#i’ve been wanting one for fairly long but i just hadn’t bought one for myself

[verygaysideblog]

not to flex on any other loser queers but my boyfriend got me a twin fantasy vinyl for my birthday^_^

[aliceindiamonds]

Motivation

Leon S Kennedy x Female Reader

Written because since I started playing the remake of RE4 I’ve had complete and utter brainrot. Why’d they have to make him so hot?! I’ve always been a Chris girl but shiiiiiiiit… I have literally never written smut before so feedback is super appreciated.

Set just after RE4. Leon is in an established but still fairly early days relationship with reader.

“Hey, are you still with me?” Leon asked, his smooth tenor breaking my reverie. His piercing blue eyes looked into mine, making me feel warm.

I looked up at him and scratched my chin, grounding myself back within the room. “Of course,” I mumbled, wiggling my mouse to bring my computer back to life. “I was just thinking.”

Across the room, he was pouring himself a Merlot into one of my grandmother’s old crystal glasses. “Thinking about..?” he prompted, running his tongue across his bottom teeth temptingly. I breathed deeply and watched as he took a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“It’s nothing,” I replied with a shake of my head. We were now a week on from Leon’s return. He told me very little of where he’d been or what he’d been doing, but I knew it was something very important and very dangerous. I had noticed, as he emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist one morning, that he was adorned with brand new scars, red and angry amongst the pinker, lighter ones. Now, as he leaned elegantly against my oak counters, he looked tired but inexplicably handsome, as always. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling good, baby,” he answered, moving around the kitchen to where I sat at the island. “Just glad to be back.” His hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I could smell his aftershave: sandalwood and oud, and a sweet floral top note. Behind me, he looked at my computer screen with interest. “Still that essay?”

I groaned. “Don’t, I know.” This particular piece of work had been hanging over me since before he left for Spain. “I can’t bring myself to commit to it.”

“Would you like me to help motivate you?” He asked teasingly and pressed his lips to my cheek.

“I am unmotivatable,” I sighed, and I tilted my head as his lips kissed softly and slowly in a path towards my neck.

“I’m not sure, I think I might have a few ways…” His breath was hot against my skin, and his words went straight to my core.

Since his return, we hadn’t had any intimacy further than holding each other at night, in our pyjamas. Leon had only stayed two nights, and he was exhausted, and frankly seemed traumatised. When he had first arrived, I had bust out the full works- soft, blue lingerie I had bought specially, excited to feel him again- but he had looked at me with darkened, heavy eyes, and we had just gone to sleep. Then I had wanted to wait until it was on his terms.

“And what methods might you be suggesting, Mr Kennedy?” I breathed in anticipation. He set his glass of wine down on the counter before holding his hand out to me.

“I think you know.”

I took his strong, calloused hand and he all but pulled me to the bedroom. Closing the door behind us, he pushed me against the wall, leaning in to kiss me. His lips were soft, reddened by wine, and he tasted sweet. I moaned softly as he tangled one hand in my hair, the other massaging my bare shoulder gently. The feeling of his skin on mine sent heat coursing through my body, and I wanted him so badly. His hand slipped down, reaching for the bottom of my t-shirt, and I opened my eyes. “Hang on!” I burst out, and he looked at me in surprise.

“Is something wrong?” Leon asked, his blue eyes so sincere and gorgeous.

“Absolutely nothing,” I reassured him softly, caressing his face. “Just give me a minute, let me have a shower and change- I don’t feel very sexy-”

He raised an eyebrow. “But you look beautiful,” he protested, and I scoffed, stepping away from him. I pulled a face as I looked down at my leggings and faded tee. “You’re perfect, and I want you like this,” he murmured, pulling me backwards into him and pressing his sizeable erection into my rear. I melted instantly.

“Fine-” I grumbled, “-but only because I can’t resist.” He laughed good-naturedly, and the sound was music to my ears. “God, you’re gorgeous,” I said to the air, and he nibbled the tip of my ear as his hands crept under my t-shirt and found my bare chest- I never wore a bra around the house.

“No, you are,” he murmured, and his fingers cupped my breasts, pressing into the sensitive skin in a way that made me catch my breath. He ground into me from behind, and kissed my neck again, and I moaned, and he lost patience. “Take it off- you need to be naked right now.”

Hunger in his eyes, hunger that made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world, he gripped the bottom of my t-shirt and whipped it over my head. Bare chested in front of him, I felt exposed, but he looked at me as though I were a painting. His fingers hooked into my underwear and leggings, pulling them off in one and leaving me naked. “Fuck…” he groaned, rubbing himself through his jeans.

Avoiding the feeling of flaming embarrassment that his unbridled want brought to my cheeks, I reached forward to relieve him of his fitted grey t-shirt, but he halted me. “Let me enjoy you, first,” he said, before leading me to the bed. “Lie back, baby,” he instructed, and I giggled as I did as I was told. “I thought about your cunt every day,” he said crassly, and my mouth fell open in surprise as he continued. “Came so fast thinking about it every time I-”

“Leon!” I gasped, interrupting his unabashed words.

“I know you like it when I talk like that, baby,” he chuckled, crawling on top of me fully clothed. His clothes felt harsh against my skin, in an exciting, striking way. “You’re filthy really.”

I laughed; he was a little bit right. His words clouded my head and made my core ache with need. Smiling, he peppered the top of my chest with kisses before running his tongue slowly down the valley between my breasts. I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut in want as his fingers danced from my calves to my upper thighs, tickling and grazing painstakingly.

Decisively, he grasped my breast and encapsulated one of my nipples within his warm, wet mouth, and I cried out his name in frustration, squeezing my legs together for any trace of friction where my cunt throbbed. With a lewd pop, he released my nipple and looked into my eyes teasingly, cruelly, “You want something, baby?”

“You’re driving me crazy,” I hissed, and he laughed again, throwing his head back. “Please, touch me,” I begged.

“Touch you where?”

“Leon,” I groaned, as he enjoyed his torture.

“Okay, alright,” he murmured, “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” His strong hands grasped my thighs and pushed my legs apart, and I whimpered. I could have died of shame as my pussy leaked wetness onto the sheets. “Oh, you’re soaked, baby girl,” he growled, teasing my wet entrance, where my skin and dark hair glistened. “Can’t wait to fuck you stupid…”

His finger slipped inside of me easily, and he explored slowly and agonisingly. I put my fist in my mouth to stop myself from screaming, wanting more desperately. A second finger joined the first, and he penetrated me deeply before toying lazily with my clit, making me feel like I was falling apart. The feeling of explosion built inside me, little by little, at his leisure, and I wanted to cry as he sped up his ministrations. I began to thrust involuntarily against his hand, and he pulled out with a tut. “Not so fast.”

“Leon,” I moaned at the loss of him, and felt my stomach twist in desperation as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, tasting me. “Fucking hell…” I breathed, watching his tongue swirl and his lids close. His blonde hair was falling into his eyes, and he looked like sin.

Opening his eyes, he smiled like the devil, and then started to unbutton his shirt. Shy, I closed my legs, but he pushed them apart again. “Let me look at you, pretty girl,” he coaxed, and I whined in response. As his shirt fell from his shoulders, his chest and arms seemed broader and stronger than ever, and the muscles in his upper arms rippled. I exhaled, watching him like I’d watch an artist create their magnum opus.

“It’s not fair that you get to look like that,” I shook my head, feeling small.

Standing, he undid the top button on his jeans and unzipped, sliding them down his legs with his boxers. His cock sprang forth, dripping with precum, and my mouth fell open. “I’m all yours, baby,” he said, climbing on top of me.

Slow, sultry, he kissed me again, and I tasted myself on his pink lips. Moaning, I reached for his hard member, but he took my hands and pinned them above my head with one of his. “Ah, ah, ah- it’s me taking care of you today.”

“I want you,” I managed, his weight delicious on top of me.

His knees on the mattress, he found my cunt with his cock and lined himself up, making me bite my lip in anticipation. I wanted desperately to touch him, to run my fingers across his chest, but he kept my arms firmly restrained. “Can you keep your hands to yourself like a good girl?” He asked, a brazen grin on his face, and I nodded.

One hand gripping my waist, and my breast in the other, Leon slid inside me in one swift motion. Gasping, I spread my legs wider, accepting his throbbing length, and he panted obscenely, acclimatising to my tightness. “Fuck, fuck..” he chanted like a mantra as he adjusted, going still. “Are you ready?”

“Please, I want it so badly,” I implored him, and closing his heavily lidded eyes he gave me what I needed. Fucking me slowly into the mattress, he leaned over and kissed me, his tongue wet and hot in my mouth, making noises that made me keen.

Methodically, he built his pace, letting me get used to the size of him, until he weakened, “I’ve got to speed up, baby,” he groaned, lifting one of my legs up so that it rested on his shoulder, forcing him somehow deeper inside, making me moan.

And then he fucked me hard. His pace was cruel and relentless, and I cried out at the way he hammered my cunt, hitting me so deeply that it hurt so good. “Oh, oh, oh, Leon!” I sobbed, still pushing myself against him harder, relishing in his unfaltering rhythm. Breathing doggedly, he found my clit with his fingers, playing me like a violin. His chest glistened with sweat, rolling down his godlike, carved abs, and I was in ecstasy, building, building, “Leon, fuck, I’m, I’m so close-” his fingers brought me to a burning climax, and my cunt squeezed him, throbbing, gushing wetness.

“Fuck, yes, baby, yes-” He pounded me incredibly fast, losing any sense of rhythm, riding my orgasm into his own, and I felt him explode inside of me, coating my insides with his hot cum.

We both breathed in tandem, heavy and fast, and he looked at me intensely, enjoying the feeling of his high ebbing away into calm. “Fuck, I love you,” he panted, kissing the ankle that rested on his shoulder sweetly.

“I love you too,” I answered, smiling up at him, feeling sobered as my mind returned to some semblance of normality, from the streaks of red and gold and silver that had blurred my vision as he took me. “Can I touch you now, Mr Kennedy?”

“Please do,” he grinned, lowering my leg and pulling out of me, before coming to lie at my side. I lifted my arm and he snuggled up to me, resting his head on my breast. For a minute or two, he didn’t speak, and we were blissful and quiet. When he next spoke, there was a softness in his tone. “Hey, baby…”

”Yes, Leon?” I murmured, running my fingers up and down his arm.

”I just wanted to say, about when I got home, I’m sorry about not being up for, you know,” he apologised gently, and I shook my head.

”No apology needed-” I started.

”No, let me finish. I had a rough time with… work,” there was a tense pause in his words, and I waited for him to continue. “I didn’t feel myself-” his voice shook, and I fought the urge to swaddle him in my arms. “Look, I- I still kind of don’t. But I’m starting to feel safe again. You’re making me feel safe again.”

I nodded slowly. Although I didn’t know what he had been through, I could see that it had left him scarred more deeply than physically. My heart swelled at his words, and I felt privileged. “Thank you, for telling me that, Leon,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to his head.

”Well, I don’t want you to think I didn’t want you. Especially when you were in that little blue number, all ready for me…”

Laughing, I said, “I’m sure it can make another appearance.”

I tangled my fingers in his sweaty, dark blonde hair, and we breathed slowly, enjoying each other’s closeness, and in the other room, my essay remained entirely unfinished.

[estrel]

for #spnprideweek day 1: coming out + flags

↳ summary: cas tells sam a secret that he hasn’t (really) told anybody else. surprisingly, sam has one too.  PRIDE series | gen, sam & cas | word count: 1.7k

[READ ON AO3]

Sam’s grimacing a little at the grease from the fries on Cas’ plate. Cas would usually make a comment, here, about Sam keeping his eyes on his own paper, or that it isn’t nearly as bad as the veggie burger sitting on his plate at Sam’s behest. This is the recompense, Cas wants to say, but his mouth is dry and no words are coming out even if he wants them to.

Accompanying the inability to speak is the twisting feeling in his gut that won’t even allow him to pick up the burger. The smell is too much, too, and Cas hates to admit it but it’s probably the grease, so he sits back a little against the peeling seat of the booth to calm his nerves.

It’s just Sam. He can do this. It’s only that this is the first time he’s telling anyone, and that definitely ups the stakes a little.

Well, that’s somewhat of a lie. Cas had told the nice woman at the grocery store check out last week when he’d seen her little pin on her work uniform and asked where he could get one. 

He hadn’t actually bought one, of course, but Cas eyed the small bin full of brightly colored pins on the way out, convincing himself it was stupid to get back in line again for something so small and inexpensive. Still, he’d thought about it on the drive back to the Bunker, and that night in his bed, and the full week following, up until now. 

Now, Sam was looking at him with concern, and wiping his mouth in that way that means he’s about to get serious.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, pointedly looking down at Cas’ loaded plate. He’d barely taken a bite, except for a few nibbles of his admittedly greasy fries. And it was weird because since becoming human, Cas' appetite had grown considerably, much to Dean's delight.

And—Dean. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? Sure, it was more than just Dean, it was all the humans that had made Cas' body ache like it hadn't before, had made him think of what it means to be in this vessel—his body—and be attracted to other...humans.

It was odd. In hindsight, things in Heaven had been so much easier in this regard. Cas had spent most of his life clueless to the capabilities of human attraction, and then he met Dean and it all came crashing down around him. Only then, Cas was ignoring it. He was facing the other way, because though he felt human, he wasn't. Not really.

But everything is different now.

Cas clears his throat.

"Well," he starts, "no. I am feeling what I believe you’d call...anxiety. My stomach hurts, I find I'm unable to eat, a-and my hands are—"

"Cas," Sam interrupts. Shaking. Cas' hands are shaking.

Sam's fully set his fork and knife down now, hands clasped together on the edge of the table. "Talk to me."

Cas licks his dry lips.

"It’s not...it isn’t a big deal, really,” and yet Cas can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He sucks in a breath. “But I’m, uh. I wanted to tell you that...I like men.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change, but he blinks at Cas once from across the table.

“Okay.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, pulse slowing down a little with his next exhale. “Okay?”

Maybe it was that simple, and Cas was worrying over nothing. It’s just...this feels like it should be bigger. Earth-shattering. Like Sam should either hug him or tell him he never wants to speak to Cas again.

Instead, he just shrugs, picks up his fork and pushes bits of his salad around his plate.

But then Cas’ gaze moves to Sam’s face and...Sam’s frowning. Cas feels his heart thumping hard again, waiting for the ball to drop. It feels a little like when Dean sat him down to “talk,” right after he lost his powers, and, well. Cas knew how that had ended. He braces himself for the worst, schools his features to something more neutral.

“I’m,” Sam clears his throat, “I’m sorry you got nervous over all of that. I-I get that coming out is...” he laughs, “usually a bigger deal, but. You don’t have to worry with me, you know? I get it.”

That makes Cas pause. “You...do?”

Now Sam’s looking at him, eyes a little wide, but he works his jaw and gets the words out. “Yeah. Uh... well I guess now’s a good a time as any to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

The fork is set back down again. The bell over the diner door jingles. 

“In college...you know about Jess,” Sam says, jogging Cas’ memory. He knows, so he nods and Sam continues, “Well we uh. We actually met in a Gender Studies class. I thought, ‘pff, easy A,’ but it was actually way more complex than I originally thought, so she kind of...tutored me.” Cas raises an eyebrow, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Actually tutored me. Whatever. Point is, I learned a lot—‘cause she was a great teacher—and...not just about the class, but about myself, too.” 

Cas nods slowly, beginning to catch Sam’s drift. “Okay...”

Despite his tone, Sam’s posture stiffens a little, like he’s uncomfortable, or not really used to this type of conversation. Cas does his best to relax into his seat to ease him, unfolding his arms.

“What I’m saying is,” Sam shrugs, “I’m...not...cis. Like, I don’t....I’m not um, a guy, I guess. Well, sort of. I’m non-binary.”

Cas is silent for a second, mulling it over in his head. Eventually it becomes long enough for Sam to say, “Uh...you know what? You can forget it, man—”

“No!” Cas says, almost knocking over his plate in the process. The silverware clatters as it falls onto the table, and Sam flinches a little. “I was just thinking...I want to apologize if anything I’ve said about your gender has ever made you uncomfortable, or if you—”

Sam’s out-facing palm makes Cas stutter to a stop. There’s a weird guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, and the anxiety that he’d thought was gone is back full force again. Cas tears off a piece of his napkin.

“Cas, dude. Calm down,” Sam laughs. He takes a deep breath, and Cas follows his lead. They breathe in and out together for a beat, and when Cas feels fairly calmer, Sam pushes both of their plates aside.

“There’s no need to apologize for something you couldn’t have known about,” he starts, shaking his head a little, “and you haven’t done anything wrong, either. I still use he and him pronouns, and sometimes they and them. And besides, it’s not like I go around telling people. Especially with, uh, the way I was raised...I’ve been hesitant, you know? It was great in college, people were really supportive when I told them. But then when I started hunting again...I don’t know. 

“My dad...uh. I tried telling him, once. Didn’t go too well, so I didn’t try it again. I think that’s why Dean...” he shakes his head, frowning down at the table again. “It wasn’t easy, growing up the way we did. You could probably understand that.”

Cas nods. Under the table, his napkin is shredded into bits. 

“I do. I think, in a way, I also understand being trans.” Sam jerks their head up, intrigued. 

“Angels...we don’t experience gender the same way humans do. In fact, the concept is entirely nonexistent in Heaven. So, when we take vessels...”

“You’re essentially defining yourself,” Sam says in awe. It makes Cas smile to see them back in their element, leaning forward a little to listen better. “I never thought about it that way, not really.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure all of my siblings did, either. Many chose according to which vessel would best suit them and their form. That was definitely a factor in me choosing Jimmy, but I also found the thought of looking like a human man...greatly appealing.”

Sam’s nodding now, gaze darting to different parts of the table. Cas knows that means they’re mentally crafting an essay right about now, or thinking of what books in the Bunker might further help in their research about it.

“Wow,” he says, “that’s—I mean. Wow, Cas. Thanks for telling me that. And uh, the other thing.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them now, and Cas takes it as an opportunity to sip from his slightly-melted iced tea. 

“So,” Sam starts again slowly, “have you told Dean?”

Cas sucks in another deep breath, and Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says, “me neither.”

It surprises Cas a little that Sam hasn’t told him, and he expresses that with an inquiring eyebrow. 

Sam purses his lips and dodges the unspoken question. “Dean’s not a bad guy. You probably know that better than anyone except me. You know he’d still love you if you told him.”

Cas’ heart pounds at the mention of the word. When Sam notices, he feels his ears begin to heat with a blush. 

“Oh,” Sam smiles, “that. I figured. For a while now, but I didn’t wanna say anything.”

Cas tries to will away the heat on his face. He doesn’t say anything, so Sam leaves it be.

The waitress gives them a worried look when she brings the check, eyeing their barely touched plates. They both smile apologetically, insisting that their food was “great” when she whisks it away.

On their way back home, Cas asks if Sam can stop at the store. They don’t ask anything more than, “we need groceries that bad?” and Cas dips inside. He knows this is just like any other grocery run—going in and out as quick as possible with the things they need—yet his heart hammers all the same when he stops in front of the bin near the door. The same employee from last week is working on lane six, and he’s sure to check out at that one with his goods. She gives him a knowing smile.

Cas flops into the passenger seat, a little out of breath.

“That was fast,” Sam starts to say, before noticing Cas’ lack of grocery bags. “Dude. What d’you buy, air?”

Instead, Cas brandishes two brightly colored pins. Sam tentatively takes the yellow, white, purple, and black one, eyes wide.

“For me?” they ask.

Cas smiles, running his thumb over the rainbow one in his hand. 

“For both of us,” he says.

[@spnprideweek]

[witchyweasley]

Midterm Stress - Remus Lupin

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Summary: You surprise Lupin with one of his favorite pieces of lingerie.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: smut, 18+ themes, exhibitionist kink, daddy kink, lingerie, oral (female receiving)

Working with your partner can be strange at times. Thankfully, Hogwarts professors were fairly busy enough to where I can have my own personal time, and not feel smothered by them. But sometimes, due to the rigorous schedule, we couldn’t spend enough time together.

Remus and I agreed to do work separately, for fear of smothering each other at work. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I teach Divination, meaning that he has far more grading to do than I do. It’s currently midterm for the students, and he decided to give his students short essays so that they wouldn’t have to study for a big test. I however didn’t want to grade essays, so I’m having them do tea and tarot readings for each other, and seeing how they interpret them.

“Alright honey, I’m going to grade a few papers. I promise I won’t stay in my office all night,” Remus said, kissing the top of my head.

“Oh, I thought you were holding off on grading until tomorrow?” I questioned. Truthfully I was really looking forward to spending time with him tonight.

“I was, but I guess I forgot how many students I have. The stack of essays on my desk is ridiculous, and if I don’t at least grade the first and second years tonight then I’ll never get it done,” He said, slipping on a jacket.

“Okay, well, I’ll be here I guess,” I said, slumping back into the couch.

“I’m sorry doll, I promise I won’t be long,” Remus apologized, kissing me again before heading out to his office.

I sighed and decided to make the most of my time in the apartment alone. I ran myself a warm bath, filling it with bubbles. After soaking for a bit and reading part of a new book, I exfoliated my body and shaved, something I hadn’t done for myself in an embarrassingly long time.

I dried off and put on a lotion that Remus loves the scent of, feeling like a brand new person. Slipping on a robe, I walked into the bedroom to find something comfortable to wear. In search of my satin sleep set, I found a burgundy satin teddy that Remus bought me for our anniversary, along with some garters that I use to wear on our date nights.

‘Well, he said he wouldn’t be in the office all night. It’s already been an hour, why not give him a little surprise when he comes home,’ I thought.

I slipped on the satin teddy and garters, styled my hair, and put on a little bit of makeup. I grabbed my book and read to pass the time while waiting for Remus.

As I finished reading the last page, there was still no sign of Remus coming back to the apartment. I sighed and slipped on a comfortable dress on top of the lingerie. If Remus won’t come home, then I’ll just go to him.

Walking through the halls of Hogwarts, it was fairly quiet. I only saw a few kids out of bed, but they weren’t causing trouble, and I didn’t feel like being that professor. I had other things to focus on right now.

When I reached his office, I knocked a couple times, waiting for him to answer.

“Office hours are closed, and it’s past curfew? What’s going on?” Remus said shortly before opening the door, “Oh, hello love, what are you doing here?”

“You’ve been gone for a while and I got lonely,” I said, slipping into his office.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just got a few more to grade and then I’ll be home,” He said, sitting back down in his chair.

“Do you know how much longer you’ll be?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I shouldn’t be too long dear,” He said, turning to kiss my cheek. I grabbed a book from his shelf, and sat in one of the chairs across from his desk. I leaned against the arm of the chair and let my legs swing over the edge. The fabric of my dress fell down slightly, revealing the garters around my thighs.

When that didn’t get his attention, I curled up slightly against the back of the chair, letting the dress fall higher, revealing parts of the silk teddy.

“Darling, what are you wearing?” Remus asked, looking up from one of the essays.

“A dress,” I answered casually.

“And what’s underneath the dress?” He asked sternly.

“Oh, just something I found in the dresser. Do you like it?” I answered nonchalantly.

“Come here,” He said, not answering my question, pushing his chair out from his desk.

I put the book down and walked over to him, watching him as he looked me up and down, biting his lip and setting the essays aside. I stopped next to him, and he grabbed my waist and pulled me on top of him. He lifted the hem of my dress slightly to see the garters, massaging my thigh roughly before kissing me.

I melted into his touch, kissing him back with the same amount of eagerness. He pulled away slowly, biting my lip softly, causing me to melt further into his touch.

“Take this off,” He breathed out, pulling at my dress. I stood up from his lap and removed my dress, slowly revealing the burgundy teddy. I went to sit on his lap again but he pushed me onto his desk instead.

“Beautiful,” he said softly, running his hands over the soft satin. I watched as one of his hands unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, taking his cock out and pumping it.

“Touch yourself,” He ordered, leaning back in his chair. I leaned back on one hand, and let the other slide down my body over the silky satin material. I lifted the teddy, brushing my hand over the matching underwear, rubbing slow circles over my clit.

His eyes tracked every movement of my hand, matching the speed of his to the speed of mine. I pushed my underwear to the side, using my middle and ring finger to gather some of my juices and continue my circles on my clit. Sitting up, I used my free hand to cup my breast, rubbing my thumb over my hardened nipple.

“Look at how wet you are. Do you like being watched, doll?” Remus said, his eyes fixated on the hand that was toying with my pussy.

“Mmm, yes daddy,” I moaned out, grinding against my hand. He groaned at the name, pumping himself faster.

“Such a naughty girl, getting yourself off on daddy’s desk,” He said, watching as I rubbed myself faster.

Breathy moans fell from my lips as I bucked against my hand, getting closer and closer to my orgasm. Right before I came, Remus pushed my hand away and before I could protest he slipped two fingers into my pussy and flicked his tongue against my clit. Tangling my hands in his hair, I cried out, grinding against his tongue.

“Be a good girl and cum for daddy,” He breathed out before returning his mouth to my soaking pussy. I let out a long moan as I came around his fingers. He cleaned up my juices before sticking his fingers in my mouth, letting me taste myself.

“Do you want daddy’s cock?” He asked, taking his fingers out of my mouth.

“Yes daddy,” I said quickly.

“Then be a good girl and go back to the apartment. Daddy has some work to finish up here before he really takes care of his baby girl,” He smirked, handing me my dress and pulling me into a deep kiss. I quickly slipped on the dress and headed back to the apartment, anxiously awaiting for him to come home.

[dubersbutt]

I have a couple ideas for the poly fic

1. Telling them you love them like when you first told Leon or whatever?

2. Stealing their clothes?

3. Them taking care of a hurt you?

Words: 1.4K

Warnings: none - all fluff

1) Telling Leon you love him

One of the first things Leon learns in your relationship is that you have really bad periods. He feels his heart ache every time he sees you curled up in bed or on the couch. Especially when you manage to lift your head long enough to ask for water and he can see the trails of tears on your cheeks. He and Connor have done extensive research into alleviating period cramps, but nothing seems you help you.

They keep a heat pad plugged in behind the bed so you can roll over and grab it during the night, but in the day you usually prefer to have one of them lay on your stomach - kinda like a weighted blanket.

Leon's sitting with you in his lap on the couch, your legs are wrapped around his waist tightly. He can feel your breath against his neck as he runs his hand over your back.

"You okay?" he asks after you haven't moved a muscle in about 10 minutes.

"Sometimes I manage to orient myself and my uterus calms down," you say, voice soft, "I'm afraid if I move I'll anger her."

He kisses the top of your head, settling deeper into the couch as he realizes he'll be there for a while.

"I'm sorry," you say, "If you want me to get up I will."

"Don't apologize," he says, "I'll stay here as long as you need me."

He meant it. He'd be your cuddle post as long as you wanted him to be there. Plus, if you were sleeping on him then Connor would have to be the one who has to go grocery shopping in -30º.

"I love you," he almost doesn't hear it, how softly you whisper the words, "And I'm not just saying this because I'm emotional. I-i've been wanting to say it for a while."

Leon's not a super emotional person, but he legit feels like crying.

"I love you to," he responds, "And I'm not just saying that cause you look like you're on your deathbed."

You laugh, lightly swatting him on the shoulder.

"Can you tell Connor to pick up cookie dough on his way home."

~~~

Connor has much less finesse.

Leon's watching him dance behind the wheel to some godawful country song you don't let him play when you're in the car. They're high off a BOA win, but they're both positively exhausted.

"I love you," Leon says once the song ends.

He laughs when Connor's eyes go wide as he processes what was just said. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel as the panic takes over his face.

(If Leon hadn't known Connor so well he would've been scared he fucked everything up. You had even warned Leon in advance that Connor would probably be....extremely awkward at best. Connor had told you he loved you first, but not verbally. He bought a cake from the grocery store and a little tube of icing that he used to write 'I love you'. He didn't even tell you what he had done, just let you find the cake in the fridge after dinner.)

Connor clears his throat, "Cool."

"Cool?" Leon repeats, amused, "I just said I love you and that's all I get."

Connor coughs again, "Yup."

"Okay," Leon says, but rests his head against the car seat and closing his eyes.

A few moments later, Connor grabs Leon's hand and holds it on the gear shift.

"I-uh," Connor starts.

"You don't have to say it back," Leon says, rubbing his thumb over his hand, "I just want you to know."

"No-uh," he starts, "It's not that. It's-you know - I, uh. Feelings make me uncomfortable."

"Really?" Leon says sarcastically, "I never would have guessed."

The car ride is silent the rest of the way home, but not uncomfortable. Only Connor's atrocious country playlist keeping Leon from passing out.

When they finally pull into the garage, Connor shuts off the engine and closes the garage door before looking at Leon.

"I- uh, love you too," he stutters out, "I just- feelings make me feel icky."

2) Stealing clothes

"(Y/N)!," you hear Connor yell from the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Con," you yell back

"Where is my black OVO hoodie?"

"I don't know, babe," you respond, still yelling and knowing full well you're wearing the exact hoodie he's asking for.

"It's not in my closet but I did my laundry last night," his voice is quieter now as he turns the corner of the kitchen where you and Leon are eating sandwiches.

"You did your laundry?" Leon asks between mouthfuls.

"Leon did my laundry," Connor clarifies with a roll of his eyes, "Thank you, Leo, I love you, Leo. You're the best boyfriend in the world, Leo."

"I know I am."

"Then why are you asking me?" you say, waiting to see if he'll notice what you're wearing. Connor was oblivious to both the massive hoodie that drapes your frame, and also Leon's smirk as he realizes what you're doing.

"You take my stuff all the time," he says, stealing a bite of Leon's sandwich.

"Not this time, Con," you reply, trying not to laugh.

"It was there last night, and poof it's gone," Connor's face wrinkles in thought, "I don't think I wore it last night."

"I'm fairly certain you were naked most of last night," Leon pipes up.

Connor turns a deep shade of red, "Shut up."

"Aw," you say, stretching on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, "I love that you get embarrassed talking about sex with the two people you have sex with."

"You're not funny," he says, trying to steal another bite of Leon's sandwich.

"Get your own," Leon exclaims, pulling away.

"I'm not that hun-" he stops short, narrowing his eyes at you.

"You turd!" he says pointing at his hoodie, "You're wearing my hoodie."

"Turd?" you exclaim, unable to control your laughter, "What are you 13?"

"You stole my hoodie and then didn't tell me you we wearing it," he says, exasperated, "That is prime turd behaviour."

"I want it back."

"Yeah," you ask, arching an eyebrow, "Come take it from me."

3) You being hurt

"I can't believe you broke your ankle tripping over Bowie," Leon says, shaking his head as he fluffs the pillow that's elevating your leg.

"First of all, it's a fracture," you say, "Second of all, your dog has no manners. He walked in front of me when I was bringing in the big delivery box -which you ordered ,we don't need patio furniture, it's winter Leon - and I didn't want to step on him."

"Don't blame my son," Leon says, indignant, "And the furniture was on sale."

"You make 8 million dollars!" you exclaim, "You can pay full price for some chairs."

~~~

"Connor," you call, using your pleasing voice, "Can you pretty please make me an iced coffee."

"Sure," he says, getting up from his spot beside you.

"Connor, no," Leon says, "She needs to start moving around, doctor said."

You pout at Connor, "But it always tastes so much better when you make it."

You're not even lying, for whatever reason Connor's always tasted so good even though he didn't do anything differently.

"Connor," Leon says, voice commanding, "you're coddling her."

"It's an iced coffee, that's hardly enough exercise to strengthen her ankle," Connor replies, pulling out your favourite Starbucks cup from the cupboard.

5 minutes later you wink at Leon as you take a sip of your perfect iced coffee.

~~~

"You have the audacity to say I'm coddling her," Connor exclaims in disbelief, "I made her an iced coffee. Look at you!"

So you had asked Leon to carry you from your office to the bedroom, but you probably would've done it even if you weren't injured.

"We have a lot of stairs. She said her foot was hurting," Leon shrugs, continuing his trek to the room, puppies trailing along behind him.

"Don't be jealous, Con," you call from over the railing, "Leo will carry you up the stairs too, if you ask nicely enough."

Connor just shakes his head, following you up the stairs. Leon lets you down on the soft carpet of your room and you hobble your way to the closet, ready to change into pyjamas. When you return to the master, Connor and Leon are already snuggled in the bed. You make your way to the bed as fast as you can.

"You little liar!" Leon exclaims, "You told me your foot hurt too much to walk up the stairs."

You shrug, taking your spot in the middle of the bed, "I stretched the truth so my strong, hot boyfriend would carry me. Sue me."

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

This is a really delayed @rdr-secret-cupid​ piece for the wonderful @alwaysbeliev​. This one got re-assigned pretty late, but I do hope you enjoy. I wrote a little piece about how Arthur got into art. I included a little drawing of Arthur’s first sketch, since it was so late, I hope you enjoy!

Leather and Graphite

Characters: Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Bessie Matthews Themes: Fluff Warnings: None Words: 2,929

“What the hell were you thinking?” Hosea growled, releasing Arthur’s arm as they approached a bored looking horse.

“The guy started it!” Arthur argued, rubbing his arm. 

“We were supposed to be scouting only, now we gotta move on, they are gonna be on alert now.” Hosea couldn’t look at the boy and he stepped into the saddle. 

He thrust out a hand for Arthur, who climbed sullenly onto the horse. The ride back to their camp outside of town was silent. 

“Oh, you’re back early!” Bessie looked up from her darning, putting her work down as Hosea and Arthur dismounted. 

Her smile fell as she looked up at Hosea’s face, her eyes slowly moving to Arthur’s shrunken form behind him. “Is everything alright?”

Hosea scowled and turned to face Arthur. “Why don’t you tell her about our trip to town.”

The kid held his hat in his hands, a sheepish and pained look on his face. Hosea turned and took the reins, leading Amelia off to get her settled with the rest of the horses. Bessie patted the crate next to her.

“Come and sit, tell me what happened.” 

Arthur plopped heavily beside her, his heels digging into the soft earth as he pushed his lanky legs out in front of him. He had grown so much in the last couple years, Bessie thought, looking down at him. She knew what this was about, he had started another fight, blown their cover.

“So, what was it this time.” She said gently, picking up the pair of trousers she needed to mend.

“It weren’t all my fault!” Arthur started, his voice cracking.

“It never is,” Bessie hummed.

                                                       -- || -- 

Bessie looked up from her journal, as Hosea stepped into their tent, he had been quiet and distant all night. His frustrations with Arthur had been bubbling all evening and she worried, it was unlike him to get so angry. He sighed heavily as he changed for bed.

“What’s wrong?” she said quietly, closing her journal.

“It was a good tip, Bessie, and now we are going to have to move on.” Hosea grumbled, “maybe it was a mistake to bring him along.” 

“Oh, you don’t mean that, it was a little disagreement.”

“This is the third time this month he has gotten into a fight with someone in town! That anger of his is gonna get him caught, or worse, killed!” Hosea’s voice caught in his throat.

Bessie smiled knowingly. That was it, he wasn’t mad at Arthur, he was scared and worried for the boy.

“Mr. Matthews, is that concern I hear?” she said jokingly. “He just needs another outlet. What happened to that journal you bought him?”

Hosea scoffed, and shrugged. “I couldn’t get him to do his writing lessons in it, much less anything else.”

He crossed the space, settling down onto their pallet. He pinched the bridge of his nose, Hosea didn’t know what to do about Arthur. The teen had been letting his anger get the best of him more and more lately. Bessie was right, he needed another outlet, but the only things the kid seemed interested in were horses and fighting. He laid back, cradling his head in his arms.

“We could get him a horse?” Hosea mulled the idea over in his head. “No, then we would have another horse to take care of.”

Bessie chuckled lightly and snuffed the lantern, joining Hosea on the pallet. She kissed him gently on the cheek before resting her head against his chest. 

“I may have an idea, I’ll talk to Arthur in the morning.” She felt Hosea’s arm snake around her, pulling her close and she hummed contently.

“What would I do without you?” Hosea said quietly, pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

                                                      -- || --

Arthur was a fairly early riser, the kid seemed to have a lot of trouble sleeping, and Bessie had taken advantage of the early morning peace more than a few times with him. He sat quietly, stoking the fire with a stick, the percolator bubbling with coffee he had undoubtedly brewed more than once this morning.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Bessie said softly so as not to spook him. 

He looked up, dropping the stick into the flames. “Mornin’, missus Matthews.” 

Bessie smiled and took a seat on a log near the fire, pulling out her journal. She flipped to an open page and began sketching quietly. Arthur watched her curiously, he had always wondered what she was putting in that journal. Hosea had gotten him one a while back to practice his writing, but what did he need that for? They were outlaws and crooks, so he hadn’t seen the point. 

Her hands danced quickly across the page in long strokes, and Arthur found himself entranced. He wanted desperately to see what she was working on, what could possibly keep her interest, it was just writing, it wasn't like one of those fancy stories Hosea would get him.

He poured himself another coffee. “Ya want some coffee?” 

Arthur held out a cup as Bessie looked up from her journal, laying her pencil down, she took the cup from him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She smiled, cradling the cup in her hands.

Arthur looked to the floor, a blush blooming across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No problem at all,” he muttered. “You workin’ on a story or something?” He glanced down at her journal.

Bessie took a sip from her cup, she had snagged him.

“Oh, just capturing the moment.” She said over the top of her cup. “I like to capture moments I want to look back on.” She motioned for Arthur to join her on the log.

He cocked an eyebrow, settling next to her. “Capturing the moment?” He furrowed his brow, looking down at her journal.

His eyes scanned the page, the camp was laid out roughly, the lake just beyond the tents a gentle mist etched over the water. He was there, tending to the fire, just like he had been when Bessie had joined him.

“You draw missus Matthews?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off the page. “Why?”

“Why not? I enjoy it. You ever tried?”  She turned to a blank page, offering the journal to Arthur.

“When I was a kid,” he held up his hands, “but I ain’t ever seen the point.” 

Bessie raised an eyebrow incredulously. She flipped the journal back to the beginning, running her fingers over the page to flatten it out. 

Arthur’s eyes scanned down the page, he recognized the scene, the small town nestled in the valley as they had come through the mountains on their way east last spring. The sun had filtered through the clouds and the shadows danced through the valley. Arthur remembered that day, he had done his best to commit it to his memory. Beside the image was a page of beautifully written words, they looked nothing like Arthur’s own handwriting, sloppy and slanted and uncertain.

Bessie flipped the page, and he saw his own smiling face, holding up the rabbit from his first hunt with Hosea. They went through the journal, through each memory, so many that Arthur had forgotten. He looked up at Bessie as she flipped to a new page.

“I like to sketch out the good memories, ones I don’t want to ever forget. “I’ve learned something over all these years. Even your most life-changing memories fade with time. The ones you swore you’d never forget, might someday not be quite as clear. But if I sketch them, it’s like leaving myself an open window.” 

Arthur traced his hand over one of the pages. He’d never thought about it like that, he’d forgotten about his first hunting trip with Hosea, it had seemed so long ago. They’d been spitting out birdshot all night. He was sure he had damn near chipped a tooth eating that rabbit, but it had been fun. He looked back up at Bessie.

“You think you could teach me to draw, miss Bessie?”

“Ain’t much to it,” she smiled, “just look at what’s around you and try and capture it on paper.” 

She looked around camp, seeing the horses grazing lazily under some trees. Flipping to a new page in the journal she handed it to Arthur, pointing over to the herd.

“Draw what you see, let’s try with the horses. Just capture the shapes first.” She held out the pencil for him.

He took the pencil from her hesitantly, looking down at it in his hand.

“I can’t draw horses!” 

“Have you tried?” Bessie countered, “Just try, break them down to shapes and go from there.”

Arthur huffed and put the pencil to the paper, looking up at the herd as they grazed. The pencil moved shakily across the page, trying his best to break down the shapes. Bessie smiled, watching as he worked. He was doing pretty well, each of the horses’ forms coming together on the page.

He felt her eyes on him and looked up, her smile reassuring him. He glanced again at the herd, who had started to stir as the sun climbed higher into the sky. He closed his eyes, biting his lip in concentration, willing the image of them as they were into his memory.

“Looks like your subjects are moving on.” Bessie placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “That’s okay, it happens like that sometimes. But if you get down the shapes, you can go back to it later.”

She stood, leaving Arthur with the journal as she went to start her chores. He had gotten a good start, his lines were a bit shaky but she expected as such. He had seemed so focused, the normal boundless morning energy of the teen quieted by the experience. She would check back with him in a bit, knowing how unsettling it can be to have someone standing over you while you work.

Arthur put the pencil to paper again, closing his eyes as he pulled up the image of the horses in his head. He sketched lines, following the shapes he had created, connecting them and fleshing them out to match what he saw in his mind. 

He sat back and looking down at what he had done, the shaky lines and vague shapes made his heart sink. He flipped back to the image that Bessie had been working earlier, running his fingers over her smooth lines, her looping and elegant handwriting. The frustration started to bubble within him and he closed the journal.

“What you got there, Arthur?”  Hosea poured himself a coffee.

“Oh, I--” Arthur’s hands moved to cover the journal.

“He asked me if I could teach him how to draw.” Bessie replied for him, hefting the stew pot from the fire.

Arthur scrambled to help her, taking the pot from her and delivering it to the butcher table.

“Is that so?” Hosea glanced slyly at Bessie.

“Ye-yeah! She is showing me how to draw horses! Though, can’t say I’m much good at it.” He picked the journal up off the ground offering it back to her.

“It’s just a matter of practice,” she took the book, “it’ll become second nature in no time.”  

Bessie flipped through the pages, finding Arthur’s sketch. He had done much better than her first time, his lines were a bit uncertain, but they very much looked like horses, and he had been able to capture a decent amount before his subjects had moved on.

“This is a wonderful start, Arthur. I know exactly what I’m looking at! Which is more than I could say about Hosea’s first try.” Her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“My dear, you wound me.” Hosea gasped, grabbing his chest dramatically.

“Hosea draws too?” Arthur furrowed his brow. “How come I ain’t ever seen you draw anything then?”

“Not my fault you never asked.” Hosea said dismissively, shrugging. “You finish up your chores this mornin’?” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Want to go fishing with me? I’m sure Miss Bessie would love to change it up, and I could really go for some fish stew.” Hosea winked at Bessie and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah!” Arthur said excitedly.

“Go get your things then, and get the horses ready.” He watched as Arthur scampered off before turning to Bessie.

“I can’t say I ever thought you’d get him to sit still for five minutes, let alone start drawing.” Hosea wrapped his arms around Bessie’s waist, peppering her neck with light kisses.

“He didn’t need much of a push, he’s really quite good. He has a good eye for detail.” She held up the journal for Hosea. “Those horses moved on shortly after he got the shapes down.”

Hosea chuckled, running his hand gently over the lines. 

“Let’s hope he keeps with it. Maybe someday he can make a living out of it, get out of this life.” 

                                                      -- || --

The afternoon had been quiet, the fish bit lazily at their lines and Hosea moved around the other side of the lake to see if he could have better luck. Arthur’s line moved slowly with the breeze. They had been at it for hours but only had a few small perch to show for it. Hosea had been convinced that this lake had some big bass, but they’d yet to pull a single one.

He liked these quiet afternoons with Hosea, the man had become something like a father to him. He wasn’t sure if fishing was his favorite, but Hosea loved it, and it got him time away from chores.

Arthur watched as Hosea cast his line into the clear water, the ripples reflecting the sun’s rays, creating a pattern of perfect rings on the glassy surface. His mind wandered back to what Bessie had said about why she kept a journal and he dug his rod into the soft earth near the water. 

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the journal that Hosea had given him back when they were teaching him to write. Flipping to a blank page near the back he settled down on one of the fallen logs by the shore to write.

Spent some time with Hosea today, I never know if the man is telling me the truth or spinning me a tale. But he’s kind to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I know he was madder than a tom cat yesterday that I got into that fight. Today we went fishing, not much biting, but that didn’t stop Hosea from having a good time.

I’m trying out this journal again, ain’t quite sure what to say, but missus Bessie says it’s a nice way to look back on things we may not always remember. So I’m gonna try. 

Bessie is teaching me to draw. She draws the most beautiful pictures I’ve ever seen, and her handwriting is real pretty, nothing like my chicken scratch. Maybe she can teach me how to make them fancy looping letters, that’d be nice.

He sketched Hosea down near the water, the ripples from his line breaking up the surface of the lake. It was easier than the horses from earlier, Hosea had committed to his spot and only a light breeze blew through the trees and across the water.

The clicks of his reel pulled him out of the drawing and he looked up to see the tip of his rod arching toward the water. He snatched it up pulling back to set the hook, feeling the line go taut as the fish fought against him.

He pulled the fish from the water, it put up enough of a fight to draw Hosea’s attention and he had made his way back over.

“Looks like a decent fish, what you got there, Arthur?”

Arthur held up the fish, “Seems like maybe some kind of bass?”

Hosea clapped excitedly.  “Our white whale!” He chuckled “Few more of those and we’ll have a proper stew!”

                                                      -- || --

“How’d that lead shake out?” Bessie looked up over the top of her journal as Hosea ducked into their tent.

“Looks promising. That couple is sitting on quite a bit of cash. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss some of it.” Hosea pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“How’d Arthur do?” Bessie closed her journal as Hosea joined her on their palet.

“The kid should have been an actor.” Hosea smiled, leaning back.

Bessie glanced over, raising an eyebrow. Hosea sighed, knowing the look all too well.

“I shouldn’t have to say it, you know it’s true.” He rolled his eyes, trying to hide the smile.

“His improvement is amazing. The way he sees the world, I have never seen anything like it. It’s like he sees the world in pictures, that he can pull from with such incredible detail. He’s nearly filled that journal. I think it’s been good for him. To have a place to keep his thoughts.”

Hosea was quiet for a moment. Arthur had seemed calmer, the kid appeared to enjoy the journal, whatever he was putting in there. He had been a bit hesitant to ask him what he was doing, worried it would discourage him. 

“I imagine it is, he’s a kid. We’re adults, he doesn’t have anyone his age to talk to, so an outlet probably does him some good.” He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “You were right, per usual.”

She pressed a kiss to his jaw, closing her journal. “I know,” she said gently, wrapping her arm around him.

[lynnsfics]

Feisty

Pairing: Racetrack Higgins x Reader

Request: “race or spot x feisty reader/oc + prompt #84 (sarcasm) from list 2 could be really fun! if it's not a bother, tysm 🖤”

Prompt: “I can’t date him! He hates sarcasm! That’s like my second language!”

Word Count: Approx. 1.7k

~~~

“Wait up,” Race called as you ran down the steps of the newsies boarding house. Although you felt bad, you didn’t stop. You had barely had time to get dressed before you heard the morning bell. The papes were already being sold and you had just left the house. Race being late was his own problem, not yours. 

As you finally reached the distribution center for the papers you sighed with relief. Fortunately for you, they hadn’t completely sold out. However, that meant the headline wasn’t an easy seller, so you’d be in for a long day. Race caught up with you at the selling window. 

“Hey, why didn’t’ya wait up?” he asked. 

“Because it’d be great if we were both late,” you said, rolling your eyes.

He looked confused for a moment and then sighed with exasperation. “Oh, youse is bein’ sarcastic again. You know I hate when you do that.”

“Sorry Race,” you laughed. “But you know I can’t be late. ‘M already almost behind on my payments for the lodging.” 

Race nodded in understanding. It was the same story for a lot of newsies, not being able to scrape together the money for lodging and then being out on the streets. “Why don’t we’s sell together today? I already has enough for my rent this month, so you can take some of my extra papes.” 

You didn’t want to accept help from anybody, least of all Race. Part of you was worried he would resent you if you held him back, and for some reason that terrified you. “Are ya’ sure? I’ll be fine on my own as always, really.”

He shook his head, “Just because youse is ‘fine’ doesn’t mean that you should have to be all alone.” 

Looking down, you nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, Race.” You prayed to whoever was listening that he didn’t notice the blush spreading across your cheeks. “We’d best buy some papes and start selling then, huh?”

You handed your money to Weasel, who was standing at the window counting the day’s profit. “I’ll take 50 papes, as usual.” 

“Are you sure you can sell that many?” Oscar Delancey taunted. “It’s not a great headline, and you ain’t exactly the top seller anyways.”

Race shot him a glare but you already had a scathing response prepared.  “Oscar, I know it’s difficult for youse to understand, but sales ain’t based wholly on the headline. Stunning good looks also factor in, which must explain why you and your brother never made it as newsies.”

“You’d better watch it,” Oscar threatened, balling his hand into a fist. He narrowed his eyes and you could tell he was getting irritated. 

As soon as Race bought his papers you were off. Although you weren’t opposed to punching a Delancey, you would hate to get all mussed up. After all, you had to at least look a little bit respectable, that way you could sell in the wealthier areas without attracting any trouble. 

You turned to Race with a grin, “So, where to first?”

He shook his head, “Youse is gonna get in trouble for talking back one of these days, you’re too feisty for your own good. But I found a great selling spot in upper Manhattan. People there give great tips too.” 

“Perfect,” you said with a light laugh. “And I thinks I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Those Delanceys won’t even know what hit ‘em.”

Race simply rolled his eyes in response. “I certainly hope so,” he laughed. “Let’s head out before everyone in this city already has a pape.”

It was a fairly quick walk, but the brisk morning air made it seem longer than it was. Race looked over at you, noting that you had been strangely silent for most of the trip. When he saw you silently shivering he smiled to himself. Of course you were too proud to even mention it. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. He already knew what your answer would be, but he decided to ask anyway. At least then it would seem like he hadn’t already made up his mind on what he was about to do.

Just like he predicted, you answered with a simple, “Yes, why?” However a visible shiver passed over you as you answered, giving away your lie.

“Because you seem cold,” he said, trying his best to sound exasperated and not concerned. He knew if he seemed worried you’d refuse his offer, not wanting to seem weak. “Here, take my coat, I don’t need it.”

“Race, no,” you shook your head. “You do need it.”

“Not as much as you do,” he countered. Despite your protests he shrugged off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders. “Don’t even try to give it back ‘til we’s done selling.”

You sighed and nodded, “Fine.” To be honest, it really helped against the chill. Although you knew Race didn’t need it as much, it still pained you to take it from him. There was no way he would take it back, though. He could be as stubborn as you when he wanted to be. 

When you finally reached the neighborhood you breathed a sigh of relief. There were no other newsies in sight, which meant you were probably the first ones there. Or, you thought, the others had already sold everyone a paper and you wouldn’t make any sales. Hopefully it wasn’t the latter. 

Once you began calling out headlines, both real and slightly made-up, you realized your initial impression was correct. Your papers sold fairly quickly and you received a few nice tips too. The whole time you weren’t selling you spent talking to Race about anything and everything. 

Before you knew it the day was winding to a close and you had sold all your papes. Night was falling quickly and you had to hurry back to the lodging house. There was hardly any light on the streets and you became turned around. 

As you tried to navigate on the darkened street you realized you had become separated from Race. You called out to him, “Race? Where are you?” Someone grabbed your hand and you jumped. Your heartbeat calmed, however, when you saw it was just him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you scolded, “I could’ve had a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I was jus’ worried ‘cause it’s easy to get lost here. Since I know the way I thought this’d be a safer way of heading back.” He motioned to his hand, still linked with yours. You nodded silently, thankful he wouldn’t notice your blush in the dark. 

The trip back to the lodging house seemed to drag on for eternity as your heart raced in your chest. While you had always considered Race a friend, you had secretly wondered if there was any chance of something more. After the day’s events you realized how much you wanted the chance to be real. 

When you finally returned to the lodging house you quickly said goodnight to Race before rushing to your room. On the way, however, you were stopped by Jack, who was looking at you confusedly. 

“Are you wearing Racetrack’s jacket?” he asked you. 

Shit. You had entirely forgotten to give it back in your haste to get to your room. “Oh, yeah, he lent it to me for sellin’ today. It was chilly so…” you trailed off, praying Jack wouldn’t ask anymore questions. While he had always been like an older brother to you that also meant he teased you like an older brother would. Which, unfortunately, included joking with you when he thought you liked someone.

Somehow Jack had figured out that you had a tiny crush on Race and was determined to set you two up, and tonight was no exception. “Well I didn’t know youse was sellin’ together,” he said with a smirk. 

You answered quickly, “It was just for today, no big deal.” 

“Well, if youse ever does get together don’t say I didn’t call it.”

Rolling your eyes, you began to grow defensive, “I can’t date him! He hates sarcasm! That’s like my second language!” Even as you said it you knew it was a bad excuse. 

Jack chuckled lightly, “Sounds like something someone makin’ up excuses would say.” Damn it, he knew you too well. “Maybe you should go give him his jacket back and, I dunno, talk to him a bit.”

He was right as always. There was no way you could keep living like this, you had to confront how you felt, which meant confessing to Race. “I think I will,” you said softly. “G’night Kelly.” 

You slowly made your way to the front of the lodging house. Somehow you knew Race hadn’t gone to bed yet. When you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew you were right. The faint smell of cigar smoke wafted up the steps from where Race was sitting. 

“Hey Race,” you said quietly. “I realized I never gave you your coat back and,” you shrugged, holding it out to him. 

He took it silently and you sat down next to him. “Thank you, by the way. For helping me sell my papes today, and for lending me your jacket and, everything, really.”

Race smiled, “Of course. It was nice having someone to sell with.” You could tell something was on his mind, he seemed distant. 

“I’m glad you came out here,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Lately I’ve been thinking, and well,” he paused before continuing, “what if we went out sometime? If you don’t want to that’s fine,” he said quickly, “but I was thinking we could go on a date or something.”

Before you could second-guess yourself you leaned and pressed your lips to his. Your heart was pounding in your chest and after a split-second he returned the kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft, and unsurprisingly, the kiss tasted of cigar smoke and something sweet that you couldn’t quite place. When you finally pulled away you were breathless.

He grinned, putting an arm around your waist, “So, is that a yes?”

You laughed as you rested your head on his shoulder, “It’s a yes.”

~~~

Requested By: anon

Why do my newsies fics always end up longer than I originally plan? Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist and as always likes and reblogs are appreciated! Love you all! <3

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Thanks for the tag, @phoenixrisesoncemore ! (BTW, I decided to stay at my parents’ a while longer due to the pandemic, so I haven’t seen your card yet, but thank you so much - I look forward to seeing it when I’m home!)

Favourite colour: A nice deep violet-blue.

Currently reading:

The Face of Water: A Translator on Beauty and Meaning in the Bible by Sarah Rudin (very good!)

Metazoa: Animal Life and the Birth of the Mind by Peter Godfrey-Smith (Christmas gift, interesting so far)

Underland by Robert MacFarlane (travel-style book about various caves, tunnels, and passageways around the world; very highly recommended by my dad; I’ve read his The Old Ways, about various walking trails, and it was good; he’s got a very rich vocabulary, a love of synonyms, and a writing style that is impossible to read quickly - not because it’s hard, but because it’s very deliberately paced. That’s exactly what my dad loves about it; it makes me feel impatient, like I’m walking behind someone who’s walking slowly. But the places he goes to are fascinating and he does write beautifully.)

The Disappearing Spoon: and other true tales of madness, love, and the history of the world from the periodic table of the elements by Sam Kean (an all-time favourite and a reread; I have bought it no less than four times for myself and others. Fantastic popular history/science, loads of fascinating stories and personalities.)

Ninety-Three by Victor Hugo (I’m just one chapter in so far)

Paradiso by Dante Alighieri (Dorothy L. Sayers translations)

Honourable mention: Found the entire Chronicles of Narnia except LWW at a used bookstore for $2-3 each! Not reading any at the moment, but have already reread The Horse and His Boy!

Last series: Hawkeye (MCU). Had its good points, but ultimately frustrating because Marvel seems unable to truly grapple with the concept of personal responsibility for its heroes. Displaces the blame for Hawkeye having straight-up murdered one (sympathtic) antagonist’s father and then focuses its emotional finale on Black Window’s death which he can’t nearly as reasonably be blamed for. (Marvel can be fairly blamed for its decision to kill off her rather than him, which is what I think most of the fans who say they’re angry at him for her death actually mean; but I think if they’d killed him off instead in Endgame it would have been derided as another Quicksilver moment, conveniently offing the character no one was attached to.) It’s a classic character stanning trick - focus on someone unfairly over-blaming them for one thing to distract from addressing their guilt in something else.

What I wanted to see was Hawkeye surrender himself to Maya, unconditionally; someone willing to kill an enemy for revenge may be much less willing to kill a person who is penitent, unarmed, and surrendered. That’s what taking responsibility would look like. If she did choose to kill him - well, if you’re not willing to be accountable to a justice system, then that’s what justice looks like. Otherwise we’re just saying that self-declared ‘heroes’ have carte blanche to murder people as long as they’ve saved the world a couple times.

Coming after the failure to have Wanda to take real responsibility for the harm she did to others in WandaVision, it indicates that Marvel isn’t willing to seriously look at what true accountability for wrongs committed by their heroes would look like.

Last movie: Muppet Treasure Island. An absolute classic; introduced my parents to this one when they said they hadn’t seen it. Last time I watched it, about a month ago, it inspired me to read the actual Treasure Island for the first time.

Sweet, savoury, or spicy? Sweet! I have a major sweet tooth, have baked three batches of cookies in the last week or so, and am currently working my way (disgracefully quickly) through a truly massive haul of Christmas chocolates.

Currently working on: Not much!

[4kominato]

Part I: The Older Brothers 

Part II: The Younger Brothers

A/N: Hi friends... first of all... if you thought this blog was SFW i apologize, it’s not 😃 im very much a hoe. Second, yes, I’ve been mostly posting drawings, but I also enjoy writing so I’ll be posting these kinds of reactions and scenarios every now and then, mostly for Obey Me and probably Daiya. I’m not taking requests as of now but eventually, I might so stay tuned! I was originally gonna post all together, but it was getting kinda long ;) and also I was just too excited to post after I finished Satan’s LMAO. I finished Belphie but still working on Asmo and Beel so I’ll be posting the younger bros later ^-^

DESCRIPTION: Female MC making the brothers hard for the first time. Assume MC x Demon are in a fairly new relationship. [[NSFW below]]

(Word Count: 511)

It’d been roughly two months since you’d first confessed to the eldest of the demon brothers, Lucifer. The two of you have since, become official, and Lucifer made it very clear to his brothers that you were now his. Considering it was still pretty early in your relationship though, the two of you hadn’t been too intimate yet, but having already been a few months, you felt that it was time for that to change.

The other week, there was a huge sale on Akuzon and you happened to stumble across a good deal on a cute lingerie set. Unable to shake the thought that it’d be a good way to test the waters with your new boyfriend, you went ahead and bought it.

“What brings you here?” Lucifer answered the door shortly after you knocked.

“Can I sleep here tonight? There was a bug in my room,” you lied, looking up at him innocently.

“Oh?” he chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you, “Shall I go and kill it for you?”

“I mean… I’m already here so there’s no need. Plus I have no idea where it went, it probably crawled somewhere,” you reasoned as you pushed past him and welcomed yourself into his room.

“Well, alright then,” he finally agreed as he shut the door, “And where exactly do you plan to sleep?”

“Um, in your bed… with you,” you smiled pleadingly, hoping he wouldn’t put up too much of a fight.

“And who gave you permission to do that?”

“Hmm… me?”

“I see you’re being bold,” he smirked, stroking his fingers through your hair, “I guess since you’re my girlfriend now, I can’t say no to that suggestion.”

“Yay! I love you,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I love you, too,” he grinned before leaning forward and pressing his lips against yours.

“Hey, Luci,” you mumbled into the kiss.

“Hm?” he hummed softly in response.

“Can I show you something?”

“Of course.”

Pulling away from him, you took a step back before beginning to unbutton your shirt. About two buttons down, you were stopped by a hand gripping your wrist and you were met with a slightly flushed, wide-eyed Lucifer.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked awkwardly whilst trying to still sound stern.

“Showing you the ‘something’ that you agreed I could show you. Do you disagree now?”

“Uh well, not exactly...”

“Don’t worry, we’re not gonna do anything. This is just an exhibition,” you teased as you proceeded against the force on your wrist to finish unbuttoning your shirt.

He gulped as you slid the garment off your shoulders and let it fall to the ground, his cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red as he drank in the sight of your lace adorned breasts. Smirking to yourself, you reapproached him and slung your arms around his neck, your thigh rubbing up against the bulge forming in his pants.

“Excited are we? I haven’t even shown you the bottom half yet.”

“It’s been a few hundred years, alright… give me a break…”

(Word Count: 500)

Classes at RAD were finally finishing up, and what better way to celebrate than a pool party? Diavolo had planned it, of course, inviting all the demon brothers, the other exchange students, and even their friends from the Celestial Realm.

Over the course of the semester, you took a particular liking to Mammon, and despite him denying it for the longest time, about a week before finals, he finally admitted that he liked you too. You were both looking forward to spending more time together at the pool party and having a good time now that you finally didn’t have to worry about school.

Arriving at the pool, you were immediately met with Diavolo who greeted you and welcomed you to the gathering. You saw that mostly everyone had arrived already and you were probably the last. It didn’t take you too long to spot Mammon’s silver hair and tan skin in the crowd so without hesitation, you started making your way over to him.

“Hi Mammon,” you said shyly, interrupting his conversation with his brothers.

“He- WHOA!” he exclaimed as he turned to look at you, his eyes wide as ever seeing you in your bikini. “Uh… hey guys, excuse me for a sec, would ya?” he said nonchalantly as he stood up and quickly dragged you away to the nearest room he could find.

“Oi! What do ya think you're wearing?!” he blurted pinning you to the door, “Or like… why aren’t you wearing more?”

“It’s a bikini, Mammon, because this is y’know, a pool party…?” you mocked, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“Grr… pool party my butt, you can’t be goin’ out there in front of all those guys wearin’ that. Especially not around Asmo, he might get all touchy, grabby y'know.”

“What about you? I’m sure you want some touchy, grabby action right now don’t you?” you teased, knowing he was just being jealous and possessive.

“Me?! No way, I ain’t nothing like Asmo, I can definitely control myself around a human.”

“Oh? But I think that predicament in your trunks say otherwise.”

“Oi! W-why’re you lookin’ down there?” he blushed, finally letting go of his grip on you as he turned his body away.

“I was just taking a peak at your body… and then my eyes kinda just… slipped,” you feigned innocence as you walked up to him, your hands stroking over his toned abs as you quickly went in for a kiss.

“You better not tell the others about this…” he said shyly, finally giving in and wrapping his arms around you, his hands going straight to your ass.

“I mean… they probably already have their suspicions considering you dragged me away… alone…”

“WHAT?!”

“Shh! Calm down, babe… if we're already here, we might as well make good use of the situation, right? I know you want to.”

“Uh… I mean… I suppose… but only because we’re already here…” he agreed shyly, his cheeks still flushed as he avoided eye contact with you.

(Word Count: 513)

“Levi…” you whined as you laid sprawled out on his bed, “When are you gonna be done with that game?”

“Hold on… I’m almost done…” he replied, his attention still fixed on his screen.

“That’s what you said thirty minutes ago!?”

“No, I’m serious this time.”

“Ugh…”

Growing impatient, you peeled yourself off his bed and made your way towards him, sitting down right next to him on the sofa, as close as you possibly could. Leaning against him, you turned to look at him, intently gazing at him as he continued to play his game.

“Levi, why are you ignoring me?” you whispered into his ear before pressing soft kisses along his neck, wrapping  your arms around one of his and hugging it close to your body.

“I-I’m not… I’m just trying to finish this up really quick...” he stuttered, still trying his best to concentrate on his game, but now that you were all over him and distracting him, he was failing miserably.

“You are though…” you pouted at him, leaning your head against his when he refused to look at you.

As hard as he tried to ignore it, on top of you leaning on him, he couldn’t help but notice the feeling of your boobs pressing against his arm. It was embarrassing for him  to admit it, but in all honesty he had thought of you in ‘that way’ many times before, but never while you were around. After all, you were his girlfriend so he couldn’t really help it, but he didn’t wanna be making advances if you weren’t on the same page as him.

“Babe… are you okay?” you giggled, noticing his face was now as red as a tomato.

“Yeah! I’m perfectly fine!” he lied, biting his lip as he struggled to retain his focus.

You hadn’t really noticed how badly he was doing in his game until suddenly, the words ‘Game Over’ appeared in huge letters on the screen.

“Gah!” he exclaimed as he let his console fall to the ground, his hands immediately going up to cover his face as he threw his head back, “Dammit…”

As your eyes went down from the game console on the ground, then back up to Levi, you were suddenly stopped in your tracks by a noticeable tent in his pants. You could feel your face flush a little at the realization that you must’ve been the cause, but to say it wasn’t a little flattering would’ve been a lie.

“Levi…?” you started, a playful tone in your voice as an uncontrollable smirk spread across your lips. You knew it would embarrass him to point it out, but could you really pass up the opportunity to have a little fun with him? “Could this be why you lost your game?” you giggled as you gently poked at his bulge.

“EEK!” he squealed as he scrambled to find something to cover himself, avoiding eye contact with you once he did, “I-it was all your fault…”

“Oh was it? I’m sorry, Levi… want me to fix it?”

“F-fix it...??!”

“Mhm.”

*nose bleed, hyperventilates, dies*

(Word Count: 508)

“Satan,” you called softly, finding him sitting on one of the sofas in the library reading a book.

“Oh, hi,” he greeted with a smile, gesturing for you to sit with him, “How’d you know I was here?”

“Where else? We don’t have classes right now, but you weren’t in your room… I figured you must have your nose in a book though, and what’s the one place full of books besides your room?”

“Ah, I see. So you’re good at logical reasoning.”

“Of course, I learned from the best!” you smiled, nudging him suggestively. “Watcha reading anyways?” you asked before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Just a book about humans… it’s possible that a certain human may have sparked a deeper interest in my knowledge of them…”

“A certain human you say?! Are you talking about… Solomon?”

“Are you really making me state the obvious?” he whined as he shook his head at you.

“Alright fine, I won’t,” you giggled before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “By the end of that book, you’ll probably know more about humans than me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well… I was never really a good student...”

“Really? You seem to be doing well in your classes here.”

“Maybe that’s because... I’ve taken a liking to demons.”

“Is that so?” Satan chuckled, putting his book down for a moment to flirt back with you.

“Mhm… or maybe a certain demon,” you smirked as you pressed your lips against his. He didn’t let the kiss last long, smiling at you lovingly as he pulled away and holding his book back up to his face, “Are you gonna let me finish reading now?”

“Hmm… we’ll see…” 

Shifting yourself slightly away from him, you positioned yourself in a way that you could rest your head in his lap. Once you’d made yourself comfortable, you looked up at him, finding that he was already looking at you, his cheeks flushing as he awkwardly broke eye contact with you and reverted his focus back to the book. You giggled at how embarrassed you were making him, continuing to gaze up at him while he read.

“Stop staring at me…” Satan stated as he shifted slightly in his seat.

“I can’t stare at my boyfriend?”

“You’re distracting me.”

“I didn’t necessarily agree to letting you finish your reading.”

“Ergh…” he growled in frustration, thinking he should just try harder to ignore you.

“By the way, your lap is becoming oddly uncomfortable,” you teased, feeling his stiffening bulge pressing up against the back of your head as you continuously squirmed around in his lap.

“Maybe you should stop moving around so much then…”

“Maybe you should stop reading.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally complied, quickly shutting his book and placing it on the small table in front of him, “I suppose the best way to learn about humans is from the humans themselves.”

“Are you suggesting… Solomon should give you a lesson about humans?”

“At this rate, I’ll be giving you a lesson about demons instead.”

[cellophanejpeg]

calamitous love and insurmountable grief - part ii

Pairing: Ezra x female!reader

a/n: this has no summary, but trust me, okay? if you read part one then you’re good!!

warnings:  angst, sexual themes (+18), miscarriage mentions, nightmares, kisses (is that a warning?), this is all over the place, plot????? we don’t have one just fluff and hurt/comfort, goodbye

word count: 3.0k

part i | masterlist

...

What wakes you in the dead of night isn't the summer heat or the chill night breeze. It isn't the agonizing feeling of sweat dripping down your back, making your nightgown sticky against your skin like most summer nights. What wakes you is the whimper Ezra lets out in his sleep. What wakes you are the cries and whimpers as the calls for your name in a desperate voice. When you look at him, moonlight brightening his face, he's covered in a cold sweat, a crease between his brows, pale skin and an tormenting expression on his face.

“Hey”, you mumble gently, a hand reaching to cup his cheek, “Ez, wake up.”

He shudders in his sleep, the frown on his forehead deepening.

“You're okay”, you whisper. He mumbles your name, “I'm right here, my moon and stars. I'm right beside you.”

When he snaps his eyes open, you see the pain in them for a split of a second before grief takes over them. His hand immediately finds your waist as he pulls you closer, burying his face on your chest. The sobs shake your body as well as his when he cries, tears wetting your nightgown, but you don't mind. You really don’t.

“Shh, you're okay", you coo at him, scratching his scalp slightly, “It’s over now, it was just a dream. You're here with me.”

Ezra clutches your clothes tightly, searching for support, something that will always keep him in the present. It's you he searches every time. He spends several minutes weeping on you, holding your warm body close to him. When his sobs turn into silent tears, you still hold him like your life depends on it. A few moments later, he pulls away, eyes red and watery, face scrunched in sadness.

“Forgive me, Moonlight,” his voice is rough as he says, “I must look like a child.”

You smile at him, “Don't apologize. You're no child.”

He closes his eyes, shaking his head, “I feel like one. Having terrible nightmares just to wake up and cry on the breast of a woman.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, but his expression remains the same. You know he wants to talk about it, he does every night. And every night, it's the same dream.

“The usual?” You ask hesitantly, afraid he’ll crumble again.

“Yes,” He breathes, “But– But this time I– I couldn’t– I didn’t return and–” You see tears watering his eyes once more. His voice breaks when he speaks, weak and tired, “Moonlight, please forgive me for leaving, I– I shouldn't have... I'm so sorry.”

“Ezra,” you call him softly, “You're already forgiven.” You grab his hands and press your lips on his knuckles, “There's no remorse. There never was.”

He looks at you with a frown between his brows and let's a breath escape his lips, “But… If I hadn't–”

“No what ifs.” You interrupt him, knowing where this conversation is going, “It would have happened if you stayed too.”

“How can you know that?”

“How can you not?” You smile, “Ez, everything happens the way it's supposed to happen. No use to keep thinking about different outcomes, right? You're here now and that's all that matters to me.”

Ezra blames himself for your miscarriage, claiming that if he had stayed, if he hadn’t left to the Green Moon, he would’ve taken care of you and you wouldn’t have lost his child. Despite assuring him you didn’t think he was to blame for it and telling him he couldn’t possibly know what was going to happen, sometimes you still catch him by the kid’s grave. Sometimes he just stands there, staring at the flowers and the rocks and the little cross you put up there. Sometimes he’s in silence, sometimes you hear him mumbling incoherently. Apologizing to his son. Either way, you know he’s still grieving. Somehow, so are you.

The decision of not having any more children came from you, even though you know he wanted to try again. He mentioned the night he came back, but you told him you didn’t want it. Truth be told, you’re scared. You’re scared of losing a child again, and you’re scared of having one. If it happens, it happens, but it’s not in your plans. Ezra on the other hand… Sometimes you wonder if you’re too much of a coward, or if you’re too cruel to your boyfriend. Ezra always makes sure you know the decision is yours, but seeing him blaming himself makes you feel a little guilty.

“What would I do without you, Stardust?” He whispers, nestling himself against your neck like a stray cat experiencing affection for the first time.

“You’d be lost.” You tease, feeling his smile on your skin, “Go back to sleep, my moon and stars. I'll be right here.”

Despite the hot summer night, you both fall asleep in each other’s arms, not minding the heat and the sweat on your bodies.

…

Before Cee left to pursue her writer career, she asked how you and Ezra met. You remember that cold night, she was helping you to make the soup you were preparing for dinner. Ezra was cutting some bread to make toast and laughed when the question was voiced.

“Just like you, Little Bird,” he said, “this one tried to kill me.”

“Hey!” You exclaim, but smile at his reply, “That’s not how I remember it.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and nodded so you would tell the story.

“Alright, yes, I tried to kill him.” You admit as you looked back at Cee, “But to be fair, it was only after shit hit the fan.” A shrug of a shoulder made her laugh softly, encouraging you to keep telling her the tale, “I was recruited as an engineer to an expedition to a godforsaken planet, along with several miners–”

“Prospectors.” Ezra interrupted you.

“Prospectors.” You repeated, rolling your eyes, but mouthed the word ‘miners’ to Cee, making her smile as she leaned on the counter, “Anyway, I was told I was hired as an emergency mechanic, as in someone to fix the drop pod if something went wrong with it. So I didn’t have to do much except keep an eye on it. The trip was fairly okay in the first few days. But you know how men and their greed are. Someone” You looked back at Ezra, giving him a knowing look, “found a whole mine of Akagartite - a very rare mineral at the time - and kept it a secret and then someone else found out about it and then words flew and throwers were drawn and people were killed, and I had to run. As the only woman at the camp, I had to protect myself. So I hid in the woods for days, until he found me and immediately pulled his knife out.”

“Only because you pulled yours first!” He argued, laughing at your offended tone.

“I was scared!” You argued harder as he approached you, adoring eyes set on you.

“Yeah, you were.” His voice was softer now, his hand searched yours to pull it towards him and press his lips against the back of it, “I never did you any harm, as I promised.”

You smiled at him, ready to give him another comeback, but Cee spoke first. She was quiet as you told the story, deep in her own thoughts.

“Wait, so you’re not a prospector?”

“I was for a moment. Ez taught me everything I know, but in the end I’m just a mechanical engineer.”

She nodded, seeming to think for a minute, but didn’t ask further. At the time, you had shrugged it off, but a few days later, she came to you, showing an ad on her datapad.

“I just bought this,” she told you, “Can you fix it?”

You looked at it and then back at her. A moment of silence hung in the air until you realized what she meant.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “It could take a while, but… yeah, I can.”

When Cee was accepted to study in one of the best universities on the planet of Argo, you beamed with happiness for her. You still remember the night she told you about it, reluctant to tell Ezra, reluctant to leave him. To leave you both. But he laughed in joy when she told him, hugged her tight, telling her he knew she would go far.

The day she left, your heart clenched with sadness at the look they shared. It was after you hugged her tight, begging for her to visit when she could. Ezra hugged her as well, although their hug lasted longer, and they looked at each other as if they were sharing an inside joke. After that, she gave you a knowing look, which you returned with a nod.

You would keep your promise.

…

Ezra finds you sitting at the kitchen table when he returns from a grocery shop run one evening. Something is wrapped in a silk fabric, but he only looks at your concerned face as he approaches you carefully.

“Moonlight?” He calls you by the nickname he gave you so long ago, “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. Admitting it to yourself is something. But to him? Harder than you thought.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” you finally whisper, voice full of reluctancy. You wait for him to put the groceries on the counter and sit across you to continue, “I, uh… I know I said I didn’t want to try for another baby, but… I-I– The truth is that I– I’m just scared…” Tears start to roll down your cheeks, “I'm scared of losing it and– I'm scared of having it. And I– I know how much you want a child, don't deny it. I'm sorry, Ezra, I'm sorry I'm a coward and I'm– I'm sorry for not giving you what you want.”

Ezra immediately stands up and falls to his knees, taking your hand in his with a strong grip, “My moonlight, you don't have to apologize–”

“But I do,” you argue, “You’ve been through hell and back only to come home to a coward woman who's afraid of having a fucking child.”

At that, he lets go of your hand and cups the side of your neck firmly, standing up to stay at your eye level.

“Listen to me, stardust,” he says, firmly, “You are the bravest woman I’ve ever met. And I know this because I know you better than anyone else. Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Ezra touches his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and letting a shaky breath out, “And if you’re not ready, my moonlight, I will wait. I will wait months and years for the day you realize you’re not scared anymore.”

“And what if that day never comes?” The tremble in your voice lets him know you’re still crying.

“If it never comes, I will still be the happiest man in the universe.” He pulls away, smiling at you, “For I’ll always have you.”

At his words, your heart warms and all of fears are dissolved as you press your lips against his, the warmth of his embrace comforting you, giving you a familiar sensation only Ezra gives. You both stay like that for a moment before you let out a deep sigh, feeling lighter with your confession.

“I have something for you,” you say, gently backing away from him, and pushing the package towards him as he sits beside you.

Ezra releases your hand and carefully pulls at the fabric, revealing a bionic arm. His eyes widen at what he sees, the orbs dancing over the arm as if registering every detail of it in his memory. The arm is a dark grey, colored yellow on its knuckles. It doesn't have a strap to go around his shoulder, so he assumes it's one of those who have to fit perfectly to work.

“I’ve been working on it for quite some time and I-I wanted it to be a surprise, but–” you pause to breathe, watching his expression as he takes the arm and tests its weight on his hand, “We-we need to test it and–”

“How long have you been–” He breathes out and then looks at you, admiration all over on his face.

You hesitate, “Since before Cee left. She was the one who bought it, actually, in an online junkyard. She… She made me promise I’d fix it after she’d leave for school.”

“Moonlight, I–” Ezra tries to speak, but chokes on the lump that forms in his throat, his eyes watering.

Cee must've felt as guilty as him, after all, she was the one who shot him, which led to him losing his arm. But Ezra didn't blame her. He knew she was just a kid in the Green, trying to do her best to protect herself. He was just unfortunate to get in her way. Seeing the bionic arm and thinking about how much money the girl must have spent on it makes his heart warm, filled with tenderness.

Ezra breathes, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as you stand up and approach him.

“Here.” You pull the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing his stump. Before you touch him further, you lean in and press a kiss on his cheek, “May I?”

He laughs softly, through tears, and nods. Watching you take the arm and observe it, looking for the on button, he smiles softly. A beautiful feeling grows inside his chest, filled with endearment and devotion for you. He watches as you frown slightly at the bionic arm, biting your lower lip, like you do when you're focused on something. Ezra loves you so much, sometimes he wonders how a man like him found someone like you. Even after everything you've been through, you never stopped loving him. Even after everything he's done, his worst sins confessed to you, you still love him with all your heart and soul.

“I tried my best to fix it,” you mumble, turning the arm on with a smile, “but I want to see if it'll fit on you.”

You fidget with the arm and try your best to fit it on his stump, your nervous fingers trembling a little as you slide it on him. The bionic arm lights to life and immediately you see its fingers move; the arm fits perfectly on Ezra, like it was meant to be.

“Moonlight–” Ezra says, moving the arm like it's his own, bending the elbow, wiggling the fingers, doing each and every movement he can.

“How do you feel?” 

“Strange…” He says, standing up and taking a look at himself through the living room mirror. The arm moves as he does like it was always there, like he never lost his own arm, “I can feel it… It’s like it’s a part of me.”

A smile splits your features as you watch him move around, testing it. Ezra starts touching things with it, taking the decorations from the room and holding it in the air, testing their weight and rubbing the robotic thumb over it. He smiles, laughing through unshed tears, his white teeth showing all the time.

You love that smile. Your heart warms with the sight and you can’t help to think Cee hit the bullseye, right on spot. You don't know how, but she knew exactly which size and kind of bionic arm to buy. Which reminds you that you have to send her a message, telling her plan was successful.

“Stardust.” Ezra’s beautiful voice interrupts your thoughts as he approaches you, “I think this might be the best thing that’s happened since I came back to you. You have my eternal gratitude.” He raises his bionic arm and hesitates to touch your cheek, but you encourage him with a nod. When you feel the fingertips on your skin, shivers run down your spine and you tremble a bit, laughing softly.

“It was all Cee.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper.

“But it was you as well,” he murmurs, looking at you through hooded eyes. You know that look very well. He hooks the hand on the back of your neck and pulls you closer, pressing his lips on yours and cupping your other cheek with his other hand.

Closing your eyes, you sigh on his lips, melting into his touch. Ezra starts walking you to the nearest surface, deepening the kiss and moaning on your mouth. When your lower back touches the dinner table, he helps you to sit on it, pulling at the hem of your dress until it’s bunched up on the apex of your tights.

“Ezra…” You whimper when he starts trailing open mouthed kisses on your jawline and neck, his – now – hands squeezing the flesh of your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises in the morning, but you don’t care. Not when he’s pressing himself against you, making that delicious friction between your legs and relieving a bit of the heat down there. It’s not enough, of course, so your hands fly to unbuckle his belt, shaking with excitement.

“My moonlight,” Ezra whispers all of a sudden, pulling away for a moment to look into your eyes, “Have I told you how much I love you?”

Affection flourishes in your chest and you give him a soft smile, cupping his cheeks and pressing a delicate kiss on his lips.

“Yes, my moon and stars,” you respond, “But you can tell me again.”

The smile he gives you is so beautiful it almost brings tears to your eyes.

“The biggest galaxy in the universe would be microscopic compared to my love for you,” he says softly, rubbing his thumbs on your cheeks, “I'm such a lucky man to have you by my side, sometimes I wonder if I’m dreaming you.”

“You’re not.” You smile at him, “I’m right here, Ezra. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Ezra brings his lips to yours once more, pulling your body even closer to his.

“Me neither, my sweet moonlight,” he mumbles on your skin, “Me neither.”

...

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[illfoandillfie]

If it's ok to ask, and if you like the idea, maybe a blurb where Roger, your friend/flatmate, finds your porn collection. Maybe its a set of playgirls? Or cinefilms? As its the 70s. At first you think hes going to tease you forever about it. He asks to prove how much better he is than any of those men. Thats how you become friends with benefits.

oh this was fun and also i might have got a bit distracted looking at 70s playgirls on ebay and etsy lmao

warnings: implied sex, talk of porn and sex toys but nothing explicit 

Blurb Advent: Day 18

You’d maybe never been quite as subtle about your masturbation habits than perhaps you should have been. But in your defence neither was Roger. You’d heard him more than a few times and walked in on him once when he’d forgot to lock the bathroom door. But at least you’d never gone rifling through his belongings and invaded his porn collection. What he got off to was his business. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to hold the same standards of decorum.

 You’d realised something was amiss when you got home and found your bedroom door ajar, though initially you shrugged it off. Perhaps you’d just not shut it properly when you left that morning. Inside the room everything seemed to be in order so you put it down to your own mistake and set about unpacking your bag. Until Roger knocked on the door.

He stood in the doorway and flung a magazine onto your bed, “You can have that back, I’ve finished reading it.”

Confused and unable to remember loaning him any magazines, you turned to the bed to see what it was, only to whip back around to Roger in horror.

A handsome, moustached man stared out from the cover of one of your Playgirl magazines.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Bottom of your wardrobe,” Roger replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why the fuck were you looking in my wardrobe?”

“I was trying to find that fucking vibrator you’ve always got going.”

“What?”

“Do you have any idea how loud that thing is? I mean our bedrooms are separated by a bathroom but it’s not like the walls are especially thick. And how often do you need it really? I mean, I swear it’s every bloody day.”

“Oh my god,” you hid your face in your hands, “Why didn’t you just tell me I was being too loud?”

“Yeah cause that wouldn’t have been an embarrassing conversation,”

“And what do you think this is?” you snapped, raising your head to glare at him though you couldn’t meet his eye.

“Oh this might be embarrassing for you but not me. Anyway, I figured I just steal the damn thing for a few days, give myself a week or so to go to sleep without hearing it’s infernal buzzing. But then I stumbled across your little collection.”

“I buy them for the articles.”

“Oh sure, I understand. That’s exactly why I buy Playboys too.”

“Fuck off, I actually do like the articles. They write about stuff relevant to me – forms of contraception and women’s health and the movement for female equality.”

“I really enjoyed that article in there called Everything You Must Know About Vibrators, is that what inspired you to buy your monstrous little machine?”

“There’s nothing wrong with women knowing how to please themselves.” “Course not. I take it that’s what the centrefolds are for too?”

“Fine, yes, sometimes I get off to the pictures. Like you said though, you get Playboy for the same reasons. So, you’ve had your laugh, you’ve seen my porn, now you can leave.”

“I’m not done yet,”

“What more can you have to say Roger? D’you wanna go through my favourite issues? D’you want a list of my favourite centrefolds? Dennis Ward’s shoot was particularly nice but nothing got the job done quite like –”

“Jesus, Y/N, no,” Roger held up his hand to stop you from continuing, “I just have one question. Have you ever been satisfied?”

“What?”

“Well, no offence, I’m sure they’re fine enough men and you have a rollicking good time looking at them, but none of them are really that inspiring are they? Some of them are….quite small.”

“Haven’t you heard? Size isn’t everything,”

“Was that another article was it? Anyway, I’m not saying I’m bigger than all of them,”

You blinked, completely baffled as to how you’d ended up here.

“But to me, as an unobjective outsider and as a flatmate, it doesn’t sound like you’re getting everything you need. I mean, clearly, the guys you’ve slept with in the past can’t have been much good if you’re buying toys because a magazine tells you to,”

“That’s not wh-”

“And I’ve flicked through a few of those issues” he jabbed his thumb in the direction of your wardrobe, “I’ve seen the articles about how to make your orgasms last longer and y’know tips for curing sexual hangups and I’m pretty sure there was an article just titled Good In Bed with a question mark at the end. So I really have to conclude that up until you bought your little friend, things weren’t so enjoyable for you.”

“You have no idea, I’ve had lots of good sex with my exes, I just happen to be single at the moment,”

“Well that’s obvious. I once heard you go, I swear, five times in one day. I mean, generally speaking it’d be at least once a day for you, wouldn’t it? Before you go to bed or first thing in the morning, just before you have a shower, while I’m trying to eat lunch, I could go on. So it’s fairly fucking obvious that you’re not getting much attention lately. And, as much as I hate to suggest it, I’d say that whatever you do when you look at these men, whatever you picture, isn’t really working. Certainly not well enough to keep you satisfied.”

“You can leave now, please,”

Roger kept talking even as you pushed him back out the door, “Do you think about them, even when you aren’t looking at the magazines? Think about joining them in their bed or by the pool or while they’re listening to music with their dick swinging about? Cause, Y/N, I can guarantee I’d be better than whatever you’re imagining.”

You stopped in the doorway, staring at him in disbelief.

“Think about it,” he shrugged, turning to go back to his own room.

 You closed your bedroom door behind you and leaned against it as you tried to process what had just happened. Roger had insulted your choice of porn and then hit on you. That was right wasn’t it? He’d actually implied he would like to have sex with you? You pulled your door open again and headed for his room, not bothering to knock before turning the knob and opening the door.

“Think about what exactly? You and Me?”

Roger laughed from where he sat at his desk and turned around in his chair to face you, “Why not? We’re both single, we’re both hot. I’ve been thinking about fucking you since you first got that vibrator. And I’m more real than anyone else you’ve got right now.”

“That’s crazy,”

“Alright, offer still stands though.”

You shook your head but didn’t move. After all, you’ve heard him too, groaning and breathing hard. And you had caught a glimpse that one time, saw what he was working with though you’d both pretended you hadn’t.”

“Are you going to stand there all night? Just that I’ve got some work to get on with, so,”

“Okay. Maybe I am a little curious. Not saying I agree to anything just yet but…how would it work?”

“I don’t know, we just fuck. Whenever we’re both in the mood for it, for as long as we’re both single and want it to keep happening.”

“Nothing else? No dates, no anything?”

“Love, if I wanted a girlfriend, I’d have one. I just thought I’d offer you my services, show you what you’re missing.”

“What if you can’t satisfy me?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Either, I’m going to wear you out, show you what a proper fuck feels like so you stop reaching for your vibrator every two minutes. Or we discover you’re some sort of insatiable sex fiend who can’t get enough and I might finally have a girl who can keep up with me. I can give you a test run now, show you what you’d be getting by agreeing. If it’s not good enough then we call it off, no harm done.”

You absentmindedly bit your thumb nail as you weighed up your options. Turn around, go back to your room and probably have a wank (without the vibrator) while you inevitably thought about Roger’s offer and wondered if you should have agreed. Or stay and get your answer.

“Okay, but this is the only chance you get. If it’s shit, we forget it and you shut up about my toys and my porn,”

Roger grinned and stood up, “That’s all I need.”

[aquietwritingcorner]

Embers of Revelation

Author: RealityBreakGirl/aquietlearningcorner Word Count: 1585 Rating: T Prompt: FMA Big Bang 2021 Warnings: Child abuse/neglect Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Vato Falman, Kain Fuery, Black Hayate Pairing: Royai Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Chapter: Epilogue of 7 Summary: Tasked by Fuhrer Grumman to investigate a suspected alchemic incident, General Mustang’s team finds themselves stranded in Hawkeye’s hometown. Needing a place to stay, they find themselves taking shelter in her childhood home. However, her past can’t stay buried there, and as revelations come to light, they also bring embers of danger with them. Sequel to Embers in a Wounded Heart AO3 || ff.net

_______________________________

 Epilogue

Riza looked out the window of her apartment, her arms wrapped around herself. Her pink sweater was draped over her shoulders. Rebecca kept offering to replace it, saying it was out of style at this point, but she refused. Riza took good care of it. She made sure to. It had been one of the first things she had bought for herself, after she left home. It was comforting, and she wasn’t ready to give it up. It was her choice to buy it, and that was a reminder that she was someone beyond the choices that others had made for her.

She heard soft footsteps behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She knew who it was, and she knew that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. He didn’t even want to startle her right now with the state she was in and the way she was armed.

“Riza?” Roy called out her voice softly. “Are… Can I get you anything?”

She was quiet for a bit and didn’t turn around. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder, back at Roy. He was worried about her, that much was clear, and honestly? He had reason to be. She was worried about her too.

“Part of me keeps wondering—what if I just got you to burn the rest of it off.”

She saw the horror enter his eyes, which was mutely reflected in his expression. “Riza—no! No, I won’t do that to you!”

She sighed and looked down. “I know,” she said. “I know you won’t. And—” she looked back up, sharpness in her words. “Just so you know, no, I am not contemplating ways to do it myself.”

She had told him that the first time around. She had told him that she would find a way to remove the tattoo herself if he didn’t burn it off. They had both known that any attempts alone would likely kill her. He had been horrified. At the time, she honestly hadn’t minded, feeling that, if she died, then that was her penance for her sins.

Looking back, she could clearly see that she had not been in a good frame of mind. But then again, few of them coming back from the war had been. Even Hughes, for all of his jovial behavior, had his problems as well. The three of them had helped teach other through enough hard nights that they couldn’t go to anyone else about. Bless Gracia for never begrudging them that.

“What are you going to do, then?” Roy asked her, moving to stand right in front of her. He wasn’t demanding of her, but questioning, allowing her to take the lead, which she appreciated.

“…I don’t know,” she said. “Be paranoid.” It was half a joke, but it was also true. She was already double checking her door and windows constantly and was armed all of the time. She had taken to hiding a few more guns around, and anytime she went out she was hyper aware.

Roy frowned. “You can’t keep living like that.”

“I know,” she said. “But I also can’t not. Roy, a man tried to kidnap me to get to my father’s research. He was going to take me somewhere, to someone, some group, and have them try to learn the secrets of flame alchemy from it—from me. From me, Roy! It’s the thing I’ve fought against since it was put on my back.” She let her head drop to his shoulder, and he was immediately wrapping his arms around her. “I can’t escape, Roy. I try and try, but I can’t escape my father’s grasp.”

He held her tightly, holding her as closely as he could, and she leaned into it, her hands grasping him back.

“…I can’t let it happen,” she said, half whispering it out as he held her. “I can’t—Roy, I can’t let that happen. I—”

“Shh,” Roy held her tightly, and even rocked her a little. “Come here,” he pulled her with him, over to the kitchen chairs, and sat her down, staying close to her. “Listen, Riza… I’m not going to let that happen, alright? I’m not going to let anyone put their hands on you, I’m not going to let anyone use your father’s knowledge against your wishes. Not even me.”

She looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “But how? Roy, how are you going to prevent it.”

He paused, thinking a moment. “We won’t leave you alone. You go somewhere, one of use will go with you. See if maybe Catalina can stay with you a while,” he paused, and lifted a hand to her cheek. “I’d love to stay with you. But…”

She leaned into his hand. “I know,” she said.

“And I promise you, we’ll find these people he was connected to. We’ll find them, and we’ll make sure they can’t do anything with you or with anyone else ever again. We’ll stop them.” He vowed. “But we’ll make sure you stay protected. And I’ll be trying to find a way to remove that tattoo that won’t hurt you, that won’t cause you problems.” He tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. “I promise you, Riza Hawkeye, that I will do everything in my power to make sure you and the secret of flame alchemy are protected.”

“Thank you,” she said, and closed her eyes as he gathered her in his arms again.

A large part of her still wanted to panic about this. It was hard not to. She was scared, so scared, and it was a deep seeded, old fear, one that her father had put on her as a young woman. It was one that had rested with her most of her life. She had thought herself fairly safe, but now? Now she wasn’t sure.

“…I think that I might can spare one night with you,” Roy said. “I mean, it’s late. If I just happen to fall asleep here, well, we have just gotten back from a long trip, and you were injured during it. I think it would be excusable.”

She gave him a brief smile, although it didn’t quite have the power it usually did. “We’ll have to make up the couch for you,” she said. He looked mildly disappointed, at least until she continued. “After all, if someone comes calling, we’ll need it to look right.”

“It’ll need to look slept in,” he pointed out.

“We’ll let Hayate take care of that,” she said. Her smiled dropped a bit. “Roy…” her fingers intertwined with his. “Just hold me tonight.”

He put a kiss on her forehead. “Of course, Riza,” he said. “I planned on it.”

He stood up then, and gently tugged her up and out of the chair. They went, together, and made up the couch, made it look as if it had been slept in, and deposited Hayate there before they retired to her room. The little pup didn’t seem to mind so much. He seemed to be glad that they would be spending the night together, actually.

They changed, turned down her bed, and then crawled under the blankets. They were thick and warm, and it had a protective feeling to Riza, as if nothing could get her while she was buried under them. The weight of them was comforting. They weren’t something that would just be thrown or flung back without it being noticed.

Roy snuggled up to her, a hand going around her waist as he tugged her closer, holding onto her from behind. He fit himself snuggly against her back, holding her to him. It felt good, it felt right, it felt like this was the way that it was supposed to be. It reminded Riza of nights as children, looking up at the stars and falling asleep together. It reminded her of nights at her childhood home, just the two of them, when he would pull up to her like this after a night of studying her back, wanting to pamper her after all that she was letting him do. It reminded her of nights in Ishval when all either of them wanted was a reminder that they had been something more than the killing machines they now were. It reminded her of midnight visits to the Hughes’s home, accidently going on the same night, and sleeping there, together, knowing that neither of their friends would say a word.

It reminded her of safety, and of a steadfast, unshakable love that she had never dreamed had existed all those years ago, let alone for someone like her. For some who’s own father didn’t even want her, didn’t even think of her as more then something to be used.

It reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

She had Roy. She had Becca. She had Havoc. She had Breda. She had Falman. She had Fuery. She had Hayate. She was far from alone in this situation.

And so Riza Hawkeye breathed in, breathed out, and settled down, letting the warmth of Roy hold and protect her.

“I’ve got your back,” he said, half in a whisper, and a smile touched her lips.

“I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else,” she said, and while there was a double meaning in that, she knew that he would also hear her words of love in it.

And so, with his reassurance, Riza Hawkeye fell asleep, hoping for a new day to bring hope.

[yellowocaballero]

Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this. 

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES. 

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf. 

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month. 

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing. 

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.” 

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening. 

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.” 

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her. 

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd. 

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar. 

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all. 

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk. 

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her. 

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time. 

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered. 

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks. 

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs. 

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too.  Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing. 

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.  

Annabelle was good with disgusting things. 

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope. 

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face? 

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine. 

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever. 

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work. 

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice. 

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement. 

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song. 

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that. 

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was. 

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t. 

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength. 

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes. 

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow. 

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better. 

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him. 

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death. 

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off. 

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did. 

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing. 

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food. 

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes. 

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better. 

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately. 

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims. 

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist. 

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time. 

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time. 

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power. 

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had. 

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head. 

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did. 

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped. 

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks. 

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met. 

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it. 

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [email@organization.gov]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had. 

And a week later, she took it. 

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read: 

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone. 

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story. 

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face. 

Sounds like fun. 

[ihatetaxes99]

A Brief Retrospective Look At MVA (In The Anime)

Well. Here we are. Every end of the time is another begun. After what has felt like years of anticipation (mostly because it actually has been years), My Villain Academia has been fully animated. Well, "fully" may be the wrong word here, but that's something I'll get into later.

To honour the end of the arc, I decided to do two things: One, I re-read the entirety of the arc in the manga all in one sitting; Two, I rewatched all five episodes of the anime's adaptation back to back once again. My life is pain and I know not of sleep. Anyway, the reason I did this is because of a little project I proposed to myself back just before the first episode aired; Once MVA was done and dusted, I would go back and give my own retrospective on the whole thing. Because why the hell not, sounds like fun. This will also hopefully be less emotional than my thoughts I shared as the episodes were still airing, but who knows?

So, let's begin. And I wish to start by stating that My Villain Academia is my absolute favourite arc in the manga. It did a lot of things right. It focused entirely on my favourite faction, the villains. It offers a glimpse into their lives and goes a long way in humanising them, particularly Spinner and Shigaraki. It sets up key points for others too, such as Mr. Compress' habit of thinking more about the bigger picture than the others, which would factor into his major reveal during the Paranormal Liberation War and of course the formation of the Front itself. It introduced us to Rikiya Yotsubashi, one of my favourite characters in the manga, even if he honestly peaked in this arc and was never as good again. And it gave us a large-scale, grueling fight for supremacy in which I found myself actively rooting for the League. It is, in my mind, the very best of BNHA, the only arc I would want them to do well in the anime. They could screw up literally everything else and I would be happy if MVA was even just as good as the manga, it didn't even need to be better. I would have been delighted to have an excuse to experience the arc all over again, seeing my favourite moments with the sublime soundtrack and voice acting.

Yeah… 

But before I get to that, let us take a little trip of sorts down memory lane to see the road to MVA, what led to it. So, 2021 rolls around. What a fun year. It's just 2020 without the excitement of everything being so uncertain, and frankly it's been really fucking boring as a year. However, BNHA Season Five was announced. In February, we get the first trailer for the upcoming season. It's... It's fine. Obviously, it focuses heavily on the Joint Training Arc (in fact, that is all it shows) and although I despise that arc with a passion, it's not too bad. I had not watched the anime since Overhaul ended, so my plan was I just wouldn't watch JTA and would wait until the big attraction, MVA. And so, Joint Training starts. And it goes on. And on. And on. I checked back almost two months later to discover it still wasn't over yet. Now I found this odd. Joint Training Arc was horrible for many reasons, but the big one was that it dragged on for so long as a result of Horikoshi's health complications, which is by no means his fault. But, surely the anime, which would consistently release on a weekly basis, wouldn't have the issues associated with this. Episodes of BNHA have always encompassed around three to five chapters, and Joint Training's were shorter than usual, so why was it taking more than ten episodes to adapt it? 

Very strange, but I didn't question it much. Then, the key visuals released, confirming that MVA was at the very least happening. Great, wonderful. I love it. We've got the whole gang there, seeming like they're in Deika, looks pretty good.

Wait, did I say whole gang? Yeah, my bad, there was someone missing. Spinner. Now, I am not the biggest Spinner fan so I wasn't prepared to riot over his exclusion like I would have been if Compress wasn't in it. But this was starting to get strange. Spinner was the main narrator of MVA. Even if his importance was not on the level of Shigaraki, Twice and Toga, it was certainly more than Dabi and Compress, who did both appear in the art. Why was he excluded? Obviously, I bet you're all having a good old chuckle to yourselves right now because in retrospect, this makes perfect sense now.

Alright, then. I heard from a friend around June time that Joint Training was finally over. Awesome, great, time for the good stuff- why is there a Christmas episode here?

Yes, this was probably what really started to get the alarm bells in my mind going. The Christmas episode- in June. Very, very strange. Also, absolutely no mention of Rikiya, which even if they were reshuffling things, I would have expected him to appear in the episode of Bakugo and Todoroki getting their licenses, since it directly ties in. Concern levels rising, I shrugged it off and waited for next week.

Bam. Major reshuffling. Now, Endeavour Agency comes first, fuck you if you want context for who the hell the PLF are or the significance of Destro's memoirs. This was really starting to worry me now. I told myself that the key visual meant that MVA had to be happening, but it was starting to seem like the villains were being shafted. A fact not helped by the new OP.

Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to complain or whine, but season five's second OP is just bad. The music is fine, I have no problem there. But the visuals are just awful. Not only is there an extended focus on that stupid bloody trio of Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki, not only is there more screentime given to characters who don't appear in MVA or EA than the main cast of the former, but the animation itself is just so stiff and lacking. It had potential, but the visuals are the worst out of any recent anime opening I've seen in a good few years and this was what got me really panicking.

Boom, a beach episode smack in the middle of Endeavour Agency to promote the upcoming movie. Boom, adapting two chapters per episode during EA. Boom, the Shirakumo episode, which I always thought was part of the War Arc and not EA. But finally, mercifully, the title leaks came and it was revealed that episode 20 of season five would be the start of MVA.

20. Out of 25. And it was pretty obvious that they weren't going to end the season with MVA, so really, up to 24. Ohhh no…

But hey, I'm an optimist sometimes. I was excited to just finally be clear of all this nonsense and get to the real good stuff. Hell, in preparation, I watched the entirety of the season up to that point. I finally realised why JTA took so long and it's one of the most depressing things I've ever learned, in a bad way. Were all those flashbacks really necessary? EA was okay, as someone who as a manga reader, already had the necessary context for the PLF stuff. The beach episode, I watched half of, got too bored and skipped the rest of. And you know what, I liked the Shirakumo chapters. They weren't as good in the anime, but it was nice to see.

And then, finally, in comes episode one of My Villain Academia, on a cold, dark August morning. I even bought Crunchyroll Premium to watch it as soon as possible, I was excited. All the messing around, all the crap, it was finally over and the time had come to enjoy what this season was really all about.

I can now safely say why Bones kept pushing back MVA, because if I was them, I would be embarrassed to show this.

No, that's not fair. I promised I wouldn't get too snarky, so let's reek things back in. As a whole, MVA has been… fine. Just fine. Not good enough to justify the bullshit, but not horrendous (mostly.) In fact, right now, I'll give a ranking of the episodes, my worst to best:

5) Episode One 

4) Episode Two

3) Episode Three

2) Episode Five

1) Episode Four

Yeah. So, there's a clear pattern here, that things more or less got better as time went on. From just straight up bad, to still not great, to alright, to the final two episodes being what I would comfortably call good. This is not a good look. I'm sorry, but Episode One, an episode that I just called bad, is still one of the season's best in spite of that. That spells out awful things for this season as a whole. But what exactly made this such a disaster?

Well, cut content is the big thing. MVA in the anime cuts out:

The League's battle with the CRC

Their struggle with poverty

The sushi joke setup

All of Spinner's character

All of Rikiya's character, including most mentions of Detnerat and Miyashita

Fairly integral pieces of Skeptic's character

Most of Giran's integrity and bravery

This doesn't look too bad at first. It could be far worse. We got basically everything else from the arc, so what? Well, I would already be annoyed about all of these cuts, but the issue is that they cause a knock on effect. Without the establishment of the League's poverty, the payoff of Toga's duffle coat now makes no sense. Without the setup of Spinner's characterisation, his battle with Hanabata now feels hollow. Rikiya's surrender to the League now makes even less sense, as his love of human life and desire to cause no more death is completely non-existent. The first time Rikiya being a CEO is mentioned is in the closing minutes of the arc. The sushi scene is hamfisted into a two second flashback just so that the payoff makes some sort of sense, but again, it is hollow without it being at the start (this is also the first mention of the League's poverty and it literally happens just as they are freed from it.) Can you see how these little seemingly unimportant cuts spiral into bigger problems? I would have been pissed even if they hadn't caused some tremendous cascades, but the fact that they did just makes this from a subjective issue to an objective one.

Yes. They did some things well. Toga's backstory is mostly intact, SMP is just as satisfying as the manga, Tenko's backstory is one of the best things the anime has ever done, the awakening is very well done, I adore the PLF formation as much as I did in the manga. Everything important is intact, but as I keep saying, you cannot just keep the bare minimum and expect it to work. How about in the next arc, they decide to cut everything involving Bakugo out, and only keep him jumping in front of Midoriya because it's the only absolutely necessary thing he does in the arc? People would be pissed, and it's the same thing that's happening here. It's a problem, it's not just a bad adaptation, it leads to bad storytelling in general.

The animation. Now, I do not believe this is a be all, end all. BNHA's anime is never going to look as gorgeous as Horikoshi's art, that is a fact and I do not begrudge them for that. They have a week to draw hundreds upon hundreds of frames, it's not a process that lends itself well to good looks and the animators and artists do their best with what they have. This does not change the fact that it is extremely hit or miss. Some things, Tenko's backstory in particular, look fantastic. Other things, mostly every action scene, make me laugh at how bad they can look and some things, particularly Twice and Re-Destro's hideous designs in the anime, make me cringe. The lighting is also an issue. Garaki's lab looked fantastic, but every other scene is just boring mid-afternoon with dull, basic lighting. I don't expect huge detail, but sometimes, it fails to achieve competency and as an extremely popular show, I don't think that's okay. I don't blame the animators, I blame the higher ups. And while I wouldn't mind the poor animation and art in an MVA that at least has all the story content, this does not have that and so I am even harsher than I would have been.

MVA was rushed. That's not up for debate. It took forever to get to it and once it came, things moved so quickly that they gave me whiplash, with no time to think or lament. Now, this could be attributed to the story structure of the arc, which is essentially a series of big fights, and it just isn't as bad in the manga because I can stop at any time to catch my breath. But I think it's worth noting that the anime at least highlights these issues. Curious dies in the same episode where she first appears, really driving home how pointless she was in the end. Episode Two alone tries to cover everything from the journey to Deika up until Jin finding Toga's body. That's a lot of content to fit in one twenty minute period and it was bound to feel messy in the end. I will say that, much like everything aside from the animation, this did get better as time went on, with episodes three, four and five adapting more reasonable amounts of content, compared to one giving us almost nothing and two giving us too much.

At the end of the day, that was it. The show's over. MVA has been closed in the anime. It will never be given a chance to improve, to go from just fine to anything even close to the manga. Why did this happen? I don't think we'll ever truly know. Some blame the new movie, others the studio's lack of faith in the villains, and there are those who say that it's just how fate turned out. I personally think it's a combination of all of these things. Without the movie, that beach episode wouldn't exist, giving more time to MVA, without the studio's hesitation, we'd perhaps get stuff like an actual good OP and perhaps some more general hype for it (I mean, MVA didn't even get a trailer.) Whatever the reason is, we got what we got. My verdict is something that's very overplayed as of late, but seriously, just read the manga with the fantastic soundtrack playing in the background. The anime's adaptation of MVA is not worth the time investment, when you could read the manga in roughly the same length of time and get more content, a more coherent plot and beautiful artwork.

So, what may come next for Season Six? I don't know. Season Five has definitely been one of the most unpopular seasons in the anime, with a lot of people speaking out against it, but this mostly seems to come from the Western fanbase, so it's up in the air if Bones will learn from their mistakes. Since they'll have a full season to do presumably the War and Rouge Deku arcs, then I feel like they'll put on a better show. But we just don't know. Spinner had his spotlight stolen this time around, will Compress suffer the same fate in Season Six? Dabi and Toga will probably be handled well, since they have inexplicably high amounts of popularity, but with his own lack of recognition rivalling Spinner's, I can see Sako ending up much the same way. Time will tell, I suppose.

[cherrywoes]

ii. come with me, destroy the masses.

tw (general): graphic descriptions of blood, gore, sexual content, violence, homicide, physical torture, psychological torture, rape, dubcon, drugs, overdosing, suicide, cannibalism (brief desc/mention), knife play, wax play, dacryphilia, sadism, masochism, bdsm, corsetry, human trafficking, drug trafficking, oral fixation, thigh kink, stocking fetish, food play (and more to be named.) tw (this chapter): stabbing with knitting needles, mention of oral sex, mentions of displaying heads upon mantles, blood, gore, etc.

“MAMA, YOU LOOK like you were drowned in a river and left to dry out in the sun,” were the first words that Akamine Jun’ichi said to you when you exited the prison facility with a grace only you could have afforded. He was dressed to impress in a two piece suit, the back panels hanging a few inches lower than normal and fluttering in the slight breeze. His hair, dyed to such a blue fluorescence that it was almost too bright, had been grown long, longer than you had seen him last, and now framed his face in feathery layers with the rest tied to the top of his head in a messy knot that was almost stylish. The hair pin he’d shoved through it was just a little bit too ostentatious, but he wouldn’t be Jun’ichi if he wasn’t the least bit over extravagant. You observed him with an amused half-smile upon your lips, eyes darting down to the gold rimming the seams of his expensive dress shoes and the gold plated spikes embedded in the back heel. “Ah, or should I have said your beauty has not faded a day since you went in?”

“Oh, you know I hate dishonesty,” you tutted, reaching up and patting his cheek condescendingly. He leaned into it slightly and you smiled knowingly, withdrawing your hand before a crimson blush could make its way up his cheeks and fluster him. Where Nao was like your child, Jun’ichi was your doting husband, always quick to defend you and flourish at your side—you could always count on him to have your best interests at heart. While easily flustered by any smidgen of affection you gave him, he was quick to recover, clearing his throat and giving your mundane sweatpants and shirt a cursory once over. You sighed and lamented,”They burned my clothes when they were done using them as evidence. That was an expensive pair of Louboutins I lost; I’d rather like another pair of them.”

“As you wish.” Jun’ichi bowed slightly at the waist, almost mockingly, but you adored him for his candor. He plucked a new cell phone from his coat pocket and handed it to you with a flourish. When you raised a fairly bushy and unplucked eyebrow, he said, carefully,“Your last phone was… a bit outdated, [Name]-sama.”

You scowled at the dark screen of the Samsung. Technology had advanced while you were rotting away in a cell block, that was for certain. A quick press of a short button on the side sent you to a home screen; from there it was easy enough to figure it out, though you didn’t like change. You much preferred your flip phones and old burners compared to the pricey piece of technology in your hand; it was fragile and felt like it could break easily. You examined the lavender casing on the back and the three cameras in the top left corner, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

“Fine.” Tucking it away into the waistband of your pants, as there were no pockets to be had, you fixed him with an irritated stare. “But we need to make several stops before I’ll feel like myself again. You haven’t emptied the coffers while I was away, have you?”

Jun’ichi laughed lightly. “No, I merely filled them. You may take a look at your account on your phone if you like.”

When you glowered at him at the mention of the phone, he looked away.

“Perhaps not,” he mumbled, as an afterthought. In an effort to draw your attention away from the shiny new toy he had bought you, he said,”So, to the salon? Your hair looks very unhealthy.”

“No, the seamstress.” You reached up and plucked the collar of your cotton and polyester t-shirt with a grimace. It was cheaply made and something you wouldn’t have been caught dead in if you had a choice; you much preferred silks and pure cotton and the comfort of a nicely pressed pantsuit or jumpsuit. “Mixed fabrics make me itch.”

“Of course.” He gestured for a car idling at the curb of the police station. You watched the sleek black Lincoln pull out and begin to drive towards you, your eyes flicking over the shiny new finish and the dealership plates still screwed into the front plate. The driver was unrecognizable to you, with his hair buzzed short and a plain black suit to match his unassuming appearance. He wore sunglasses as well and you attempted to peer past them, but found it worthless to do so. You trusted Jun’ichi to vet the staff properly, and if he didn’t, you would have his head—whether it was between your legs or on your mantle was his decision to make. He was lovely at apologies, but you weren’t in the mood to deal with another betrayal—Nao’s already stung quite considerably and your temper would flare if you had another. You hoped his teeth were sitting on your desk, waiting for you to admire them: the gold caps had been quite nice and you were debating having the diamonds embedded in a dog collar so you could leash it around his throat and walk him around in public and within your manor just to humiliate him a little more. He hadn’t cried when you had pulled out his teeth, but maybe he would at the thought of public humiliation. He always was sensitive to his image.

Your parents would be so disappointed that you forewent the traditional Yakuza punishments. It was a pity they were too dead to see the empire you had built from their ashes.

“Did Nao return to the manor?” You inquired as Jun’ichi opened the door for you politely. He hummed in an indication for you to elaborate, hand pausing on the door and the other held aloft to help you into the cabin. “Did he put his teeth on my desk like I asked him to?”

“Ah.” Your advisor grimaced, as if imagining the pain his subordinate had gone through himself. He was always the sympathetic one, even if you forbid him from doing anything to help the people you punished. “Yes, he did. By the cup of red pens, I believe.”

With a curt nod of satisfaction, you stepped into the cabin and allowed the door to shut behind you. It was a luxurious car, of that you were certain, the leather soft and buttery and surprisingly real. Faux leather was disappointingly common in most cars you had purchased, even from luxury dealers like Mercedes and Lamborghini. You ran a finger down the seam of stitching on a corner, watching the flesh of your thumb catch on them as you went. You ignored the bustling city in favor of examining the car, uninterested in the changes that had occurred in the time you had been incarcerated. You were eager to return to your throne and get back to work; after all, no one ran the underworld quite as well as you did. You trusted Jun’Ichi to keep things stable, but he was soft and malleable, a trait you should have beaten out of him years ago; but you had needed that softness during that time in your life, and while it wasn’t a regret, it was a mistake you acknowledged with your heart.

You pulled your new phone out of your waistband with a tired sigh. You felt you could do with a few hours of sleep in a proper bed with satin sheets and a weighted duvet, but there was work to be done that couldn’t wait a second longer. Ten years was too long to be out of the game. You had meddled in affairs, of course, but you had never been able to get to the full extent of your former power while you were trapped in that prison. Now that you were free, there would be several people who would pay dearly for what they had done to you—but first, you had to lay low. Your release had been a secret thanks to hush money paid to several media outlets and cops, of which you had no doubt paid a small fortune for. You didn’t want rats scattering back into their hidey holes and popping back out to be menaces when you least expected it.

Before you could explore the features of your sparkling new touch screen phone, a call came through. The contact icon was blank and only displayed a gradient of color, but you recognized the number typed into the contact name well enough.

“Swipe right to answer it,” Jun’ichi offered helpfully.

You frowned and did as he said, holding the phone up to your ear and hoping you didn’t accidentally press something wrong. You were rewarded with an excited yell on the other line.

“Lǎo bǎn niáng!” You pressed your lips together at the term but did nothing to correct it. “You’re out of prison! I was wondering when you would finally get out; I’ve missed you over the years.”

You could practically hear the pout in Huang Jinhai’s voice when he spoke. The man was over fifty years old, yet he still acted as if he was a sulky teenager, which wasn’t much of a change since the last time you had spoken to him. The prison didn’t allow you to collect calls from China, citing you were a ‘risk’, so you never spoke to him as often as you got to with your own syndicate, which wasn’t often at all. “Shū fù, you know as well as I do that they would never allow me to call you. It is nice to hear your voice, though.”

Jun’ichi caught your eye in the rearview mirror. You scowled at him and jerked your head to indicate he should look forward and away from you.

“Ah, I can hear the lie in your voice even over the phone.” You repressed a sigh at the sniffle you heard over the line, turning your head and knocking it against the window. “But that’s an issue for another day. I had a gift sent to your manor house when your lieutenant told me you would be released—I think you’ll love it when you see it.”

A flash of color caught your eye. You turned to look out the window, holding the phone slightly askew from your face. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

“But you’ll like this one, I think.” He laughed. “Knowing how you are, you’re eager to get back to work, so I’ll let you go.”

You hung up before he could take you on another tangent. While you loved your uncle, he could be a bit much, even for you at times. The fact that he had somehow gotten a ‘surprise’ into your manor was interesting, however; his last surprise had been a very crude rendition of a Jackson Pollock painting, however it had been all over your bedroom and in blood and various entrails you weren’t keen on identifying at the time. He was never one to do things in halves, your uncle, so whatever surprise he had gotten you was doubtless something to be wary of.

By the time you had thought through all of the possible things he could have done to your home, you had arrived at the seamstress’ home. It was a small thing nestled between family owned bars and shops catered to foreigners, and in a shady enough area as well. There were thugs crawling around every corner, some from syndicates you knew and some that you did not—several hosted fairly visible tattoos of panthers on their arms, exposed by short sleeved shirts and wife beaters that looked to have seen better days. While they weren’t clean, per se, they appeared well taken care of and the stains on their shirts were old blood or sake stains. Their shoes denoted a fairly well off syndicate as well, cleaner and fancier than their clothes; their jewelry as well, the same panther motif hanging from gold or silver chains or even studs in their ears.

“I see you’ve let interlopers into our midst,” you noted quietly. Your fingers began tapping a rhythm on the window button, counting each panther you saw on the street. You could see Jun’ichi stiffen in the front seat, leather creaking under the sudden shift in weight. The driver paid no mind to it and waited for you to either step out of the car or deal with Jun’ichi while he still sat in the front seat, in the perfect position for you to rip the drawstring from your pants and slide it around his throat and choke him with it. Sliding your fingers off of the button and to your phone, you idly checked the time and glanced at the driver, still silent. “Your failure will not go unpunished. For now, I think, I don’t want to keep the seamstress waiting.”

You leaned forward and snatched the sunglasses off of the driver’s face. You saw his eyelashes flutter in surprise as you were setting them upon your own nose, hooking them behind your ears. When you were satisfied with how you appeared, you stepped out of the car. You didn’t wait for Jun’ichi to follow you; you didn’t trust yourself not to force him to his knees and beat him with his own belt buckle for his indiscretion. There were too many panthers roaming the streets for your taste; they likely reported to someone within the area and your low profile would be blown far too soon.

The inside of the seamstress’ home was quaint and humble. Littered with silks and numerous fabrics, it was a mess of chaotic order, and there were several needles within grabbing distance with enough length to puncture through someone’s eye and into their skull. You picked one up as Jun’ichi squeezed through the door behind you, pressing the sharp tip to your finger and watching a bead of blood well up from the slightest pressure. Other than Jun’ichi’s breathing and your contemplative hum, the house was quiet besides the settling of the wooden support beams and rustling of fabric from somewhere deeper within.

“So the Monster of Tokyo returns,” a wizened, cracked voice sussured. Nestled in the darkest of corners and between large bolts of fabric, Fushimi Chinatsu looked up from her complex knitting pattern with a smile and the corners of her eyes crinkling. Her needles snapped together with a metallic clack, the yarn discarded into a small basket hidden near her feet. She stood slowly, the sound of her bones protesting the only other audible noise in the room, her spine bowed and her neck hunched. She wore a humble outfit of a skirt and a modern graphic t-shirt that was slightly too-large to accommodate the scoliosis in her spine, looking entirely out of place among the yards of silk and lace. Other than her dark, beady eyes and silver hair, Chinatsu was every bit the grizzled ex-Oyabun that you recalled her being. As she drew closer into the light of the windows facing the road, a tattoo of a spiraling dragon and white koi came into view, once hidden by the shadows. “I wondered when you would finally one-up those dicks playing law and order.”

“Fushimi-sama,” you greeted her cordially, the smallest of smiles on your face. “It’s good to see you.”

She laughed, an inhuman cackle that had the hairs on your arms and neck standing on end. “And it’s good to see I can still tell when you’re lying. Don’t worry, [Name]-chan, your secret is safe with me—I have a few more years in me before I hit the grave.”

“I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Slowly, you put the large needle back where it had been laying. Chinatsu watched your movements like a hawk, dark gaze following your hand as it moved away from the needles to pluck at samples of fabric lying beside it. “I would have thought you’d be dead by the time I got out.”

“By natural causes or by my brother-in-law?” She remarked snidely. When you gave her a loose shrug and a quick raise of your eyebrows, she snorted. “Either is likely at this point. But I don’t think you’re here to discuss my death, Akamine-sama, unless I’ve done something to slight you in the past?”

“No, you’re right.” You examined a sample embroidered with cranes and white lotuses; for a kimono, most likely, with the quality of the fabric. “I’m here for new suits. In the same style as usual, of course, and with payment in full.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Chinatsu was deceptively calm as she lifted a spool of crimson red thread and an equally as livid vermillion silk to compare, holding them up for your inspection. You didn’t miss the slight tremble of her hands as she did so. “I believe a red suit would be in style, no?”

“That would be perfect.” You picked the needle back up and twirled it across your knuckles and between your fingers. “But first, I need to take care of some business. You’ll understand, won’t you?”

You reached back and yanked Jun’ichi forward by his tie. Not expecting the sudden show of force, he fell to his knees, the wood groaning under his weight and the sudden movement. You barely detected the splintering of a singular board beneath his knee. His eyes went wide as you grasped his hands and placed them together in a mockery of prayer.

“Akamine-sama…” Chinatsu tutted. “Prison seems not to have blunted your blade.”

The needle punctured through Jun’ichi’s palms with one quick, precise thrust. There was a momentary pop as it broke through a joint and ligament in his palm. He didn’t scream—your men never screamed—but he did let out a strangled breath at the needle jutting out of his hands, pinning his palms together in front of his face. You had avoided anything purposefully crippling, but blood streamed down his wrists and disappeared into his suit sleeves regardless.

After a moment of consideration, you patted his cheek mockingly and turned your back on him. Then, you turned and pointed to the steadily growing puddle of blood between his knees and underneath his hands, giving Chinatsu an inquiring look.

“Can I get that shade of red?”

i. i wish i could say i'm sorry. | masterlist. | iii. speak my name, tremble with fear.

taglist (open):

[dwellordream]

A Six of Crows Review: Joost and Inej I

This marks the beginning of my review of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. Before I go any further, I want to provide context for my experience/knowledge of the book and its fandom. Six of Crows was published in 2015 when I was 16. I picked it up in a bookstore and read the first few chapters idly while shopping, before putting it back down.

At the time, my dislike of what I’d read was probably primarily fueled by the realization that it was by the same author as Shadow and Bone, which I had tried to read a few years before and disliked, and because at the time I was aging out of the YA genre in general and had very little patience for many of its familiar tropes.

In recent years, Six of Crows and its companion and predecessor series, the Grisha Trilogy, have become one of the most popular YA series online. The avid fan response and promotion of it on social media no doubt led to the Netflix series being greenlit and it is obviously trending at present due to the success of the series. With all that in mind, I’ve decided to try Six of Crows again and see for myself what all the hype is about.

Some more caveats: I am 22 years old. I am aware Six of Crows is YA literature intended for a middle and high school audience. I will not be holding it to the standards I would hold an adult grade fantasy book, in terms of prose, themes, or content. I am aware that I am not necessarily the target audience for the book and these reviews are in no way intended to shame or disparage anyone who enjoys the book.

Criticism is a healthy part of any fandom and does not necessarily constitute hate. I will likely critique elements of the book in my write up. That does not mean I have a personal vendetta against the author, publishers, or the TV show. Please do not take this as a personal attack if you’ve enjoyed the book. This is just intended to promote discussion and to gather my own thoughts.

If you follow me, I am tagging this as ‘in review’ so you know what to block if you don’t want to see my posts on your dash. I will be going through 1-2 chapters per weekend. This weekend I will be looking at the prologue, aka Joost, and the first Inej chapter.

Jumping into things, here is Joost:

The prologue is our introduction to Ketterdam, the setting of Six of Crows. It’s been a very long time since I read Shadow and Bone and so all I really know is that Ketterdam is a city in an island known as Kerch, based off the map. The major countries or kingdoms of the mainland to the east appear to be Fjerda, Ravka, and Shu Han, though it is unclear how they differ from one another at this point.

Ketterdam through Joost’s eyes is a sinister and dreary place, a city under a grimy night sky and full of dangers. Joost works as a hired guard for a very wealthy man named Hoede, who keeps grishas, powerful magic users, as indentured servants. Joost is infatuated with one of them, Anya, a healer, though he knows she is not likely to return his affections and furthermore cannot wed without the permission of her owner. We also learn that grishas are at risk for being kidnapped and sold by slavers due to their value. However, the indentured servant system of Ketterdam thus far doesn’t seem to be much better than slavery, given how little freedom the grisha have.

Overall, the prologue is supposed to give us a sense for the setting of Ketterdam and interest us in the main hook of the novel, which seems to be a mysterious substance that grisha can ingest to heighten their powers for the benefit of their masters, though it has the risks of making them uncontrollable. How well is this done?

Through Joost’s perspective we can glean several things; Ketterdam is a dirty city with rampant income inequality, full of crime and corruption. Magic is an established system within Ketterdam, but the magic users do not seem to be at the type of the hierarchy despite their powers, which suggests they are a minority to the extent of which they can still be controlled by the elite class of non magic users, if they have enough money and power.

It is also very obvious through the references in the prologue that Ketterdam is heavily based off the Netherlands during the Golden Age, which was Amsterdam’s (Ketterdam… Amsterdam… not subtle) economic and cultural boom during the 17th century, aka the 1600s. Notably the world’s first stock exchange began in Amsterdam in 1602, and it was a major port and trading hub for the Dutch East and Dutch West India Companies.

It is not clear if Ketterdam is also intended to be a 1600s-esque society, timeline wise, but we know that rifles are common place and there is a thriving merchant class who rule as opposed to old aristocracy, which seems to indicate a Renaissance style setting, as well as the urban environment in general. (That said, from the advertisements for the Netflix show, they seem to have updated it to a more Victorian-era 1800s society, in terms of fashion and general aesthetics).

Overall, the prologue does its job. It gives us a vague idea of what Ketterdam is like, how the society is structured, and who holds the power. It also ends on a suspenseful cliffhanger, leaving Joost’s fate unclear. Where it falls flat is that I think a little more time could have been spent fleshing out Joost as a narrator, even if this is his only showing in the book.

His internal monologue comes across as a bit dry and mechanical, as if the author is aware he is just a means to an end to start the book off with a bang, and he quickly turns into a walking camera (just there to report events to the reader, with no internal input from him), for the second half of the prologue, as we switch to just watching Anya and Hoede through his eyes. That said, it’s not a major problem, as Joost is clearly not intended to be a main character, and his narration still effectively conveys what is happening and sets the dark tone of the novel.

What I would have liked to see from the prologue is perhaps the POV of Anya herself, or the small child she is being forced to experiment on, as that might have been a more compelling and immerse introduction to Ketterdam and its dangers rather than the fairly bland and neutral Joost, who doesn’t really feel like a character so much as a bland stand-in for the reader. If we were put in the shoes of Anya, suddenly called upon by her power hungry employer to participate in this unethical test, or in the shoes of the small boy caught up in the middle of this, it might have been both more thrilling to read and given a more gritty sense of what it’s like to be on the lowest rungs of Ketterdam’s society, at the mercy of the most powerful.

Moving onto Inej, we run into some similar problems. After Inej’s first chapter, I couldn’t tell you a single thing about her, other than that she was an acrobat as a child, that she is part of the street gang known as the Dregs, and that she intensely values loyalty. This isn’t a problem, per say, but while that’s all good to know, it doesn’t give me any sense of Inej’s actual personality, which doesn’t exactly bode well. Like Joost, she comes across more as a walking camera and occasional tourist guide as opposed to a human character with her own worries, hopes, and fears.

I think this may become a recurring problem with Bardugo’s writing - ie all tell, no show. Inej is good at telling things. She tells us where we are as we follow her to the location of a stand-off between rival gangs, she tells us that Kaz, their leader ‘doesn’t need a reason’, though she never exactly explains what that means other than that he is widely feared, she tells us that she is very fond of her knives.

But in terms of writing, we shouldn’t have to be force fed all this information via her internal monologue, which, again, entirely cuts out once the action picks up, just like Joost’s. While I don’t need her thoughts on every threat or gunshot, it would be nice to feel as if she hadn’t just vanished from the story completely as soon as the dialogue starts.

We also meet Kaz and Jesper, though I couldn’t tell you much about them utter than that Inej clearly admires, even venerates Kaz as an accomplished intimidator and chess master, and that Jesper is clearly the joker of the group.

It also feels incredibly weird that this parley between gangs in happening in front of the city’s stock exchange. Inej tells us this is because the Exchange is one of the few remaining neutral territories, but it’s also heavily guarded, which means every time a gang wants to parley, they have to pay out the cash to bribe all the guards to very pointedly ignore a meeting between rambunctious and trigger happy street gangsters on their literal doorstep.

I understand why Bardugo chose this location, wanting to contrast the violence of the gang members with the economic injustice that the Exchange and its merchant rulers represents, but it just seems a bit silly. They couldn’t meet at the docks? In an alley way? This is like picturing the American Mafia hosting a public meeting at the New York Stock Exchange with a bunch of cops twiddling their thumbs nearby.

The foreshadowing that Bollinger is the traitor (‘I’m not going to bet on my own death’) also seems very heavy handed and a little much, but I’ll let it slide.

It’s also not really clear while Inej is present at this meeting in the first place. Kaz commands her to keep watch from above, but he has also put a contingency plan in place that doesn’t even involve her, having bought out some of Geels’ men from under him. Why put Inej looking down from above if you’re not involving her in this plan? Her only role seems to be to watch, and she doesn’t even have a gun she could play sniper with. It just seems like a hamfisted way of getting Inej out of the danger zone so the author can have her as a passive spectator to the violence that follows.

This is my main problem with this chapter. It’s supposed to introduce us to Inej, but really, it’s introducing us to Kaz. Which is fine, but as he also has a POV in this book, it seems a bit lame that her own chapter is completely overtaken by showing off A. his smarts and B. how dangerous he is, despite being dismissed as a young ‘cripple’ by the likes of Geels.

Geels is also… not a greatly done villain. I get that he’s supposed to be small fry and is just a precursor to much more threatening opponents, but his every line of dialogue feels designed to show off how cool and Machiavellian Kaz is in comparison. He doesn’t seem like an actual hardened criminal who has underestimated his opponent, but a somewhat cheesy cartoon thug who unironically says things like “How are you going to wriggle your way out of this one?” with his full chest. The effect is comical, and not in a good way.

This chapter also shows off Kaz’s sadistic side in full display, which is probably one of the only interesting things about it, though it would be nice if we got any input at all from Inej on this… instead she completely vanishes from her own narration, to the point where she might as well not be present at all. Kaz has no qualms about tracking down his enemies’ weakness, such as lovers and family, and threatening them.

But the open horror and shock Geels reacts with seems incongruent, as if Kaz were the first up and coming gangster to actually consider threatening someone’s family or girlfriend. That seems pretty par for the course for violent criminals trying to claim territory and unnerve their rivals, yet Inej and Geels himself react as if no one had ever thought of sinking to the level of ‘do what I want or I’ll kill your loved ones’ until Kaz invented it. It just feels a bit silly and on the nose.

Really, my overarching issue with this chapter is that it’s not about Inej at all, it’s just an introduction to the Kaz Brekker fan club. I don’t automatically hate Kaz as a character, but his introduction is heavyhanded and comes at the cost of any establishing character moments for Inej. The most we get out of her is her brief pangs of sympathy for Bollinger despite his treachery, and her brief reference to her childhood. Maybe future Inej chapters will totally change this, but right now, it’s not a great sign of what’s to come.

I can think of about a hundred things Inej could have done or said this chapter to develop or establish her personality at all, but all we got was her briefly holding a knife to someone, and her briefly saying a prayer for Bollinger. I think it would have worked much better had this plan to catch Geels with his pants down been Inej’s invention or at least worked out between her and Kaz, rather than her just there to play lookout and admire how cool Kaz is.

Or at the very least, we could have seen the scene referenced where she searches the crime scene of the assassination, instead of that getting two lines and an entire chapter being devoted to what boils down to a pissing contest over which gangs gets rights to a certain neighborhood.

Next week, we will look at Kaz I.